Side by Side
by Herenya902
Summary: The Enterprise is called away from a research mission to act as representatives of the Federation and sign a trade agreement with the planet Reskar. The welcome quickly turns foul, leaving Kirk and Spock stranded on a hostile planet. Together, they work to stay alive while unraveling what this thing between them truly is, and what they are willing to do about it.
1. Politics takes Precedent

A/N: This is my first lengthy Spirk fic, so I welcome all input. Also, this is written with TOS in mind but should be mostly compliant with AOS too.

Jim took a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of warm air rushing into his lungs. No matter how long he spent on a starship, he would never get used to the artificial feel of the recycled air. There was simply nothing like good, fresh air. Grinning, he took another deep breath before turning his attention to the landing party around him.

There were two dozen of his people on the surface of this class M planet. They had been asked to analyze a particular strain of plant that Starfleet scientists predicted would be valuable to curing the plague that swept across Kirrian-3 every fifty years. Bones had leaped at the chance to be a part of a medical breakthrough, and the planet had been declared safe for humans—and half-Vulcans—to spend time on, so Jim had accepted the mission.

It was a gorgeous planet, although he had refrained from calling it a Garden of Eden, as the last time he had done so had ended poorly. They had landed on the shore of a lake that sparkled in the sunlight in a way that reminded Jim of Earth. The soil was a different color, an odd yellow that was caused by its chemical makeup. Spock had explained the specifics of the science to him before they had landed, but Jim had zoned out.

The plants, however, were what really set the planet apart. The one that his scientists had been studying was a deep red color, with petals as large as a dinner plate and a delicate emerald stem that held the flower three feet from the ground. The rest of the plants were just as stunning. His favorite was a vibrant purple vine that webbed it's way up the side of the large trees that surrounded the lake. The vine itself was thin, but it had many different offshoots, so it covered nearly the entire tree, spreading up into the branches and turning the treetop into a gorgeous mixture of green and purple. It was gorgeous, and Jim loved it.

They had been in orbit around the planet for almost three days, and Jim had made sure that he was on the planet at every opportunity. The first day, Bones had nearly hypo'd him because he had managed to get in the way of whatever experiments it was that he and the science team had been performing. Since then, he had learned his lesson and stayed on the outside edge of the landing party, out of the way but still able to communicate with and see all of the members.

As Jim watched, one of the science officers—Holar, if Jim remembered his name correctly—let out an exclamation of surprise, causing both Bones and Spock to rush over to him. Within a minute all three of them were hunched over the tricorder that Holar held, and although Jim wasn't close enough to hear their conversation, he could tell by Spock's raised eyebrow and Bones' weary expression that Spock had declared the finding to be fascinating.

The Vulcan had joined the landing party the second day. At first, he had stayed out of the party because his 'expertise was not in the medicinal effects of certain plants on the human body', but after Jim had come back and rambled about the planet that evening during their chess game, Spock had decided to see the planet for himself. It was good to see the Vulcan off of the ship. The crew had had a week long shore leave a month ago, and Jim wasn't sure that Spock had even left the Enterprise once during the entire trip.

Jim was broken from his thoughts by the sound of his communicator chirping. Detaching the device from his belt and flipped it open. "Kirk here," he said.

"Captain," Uhura's voice sounded from the communicator, "there's a message for you from Starfleet. Admiral Sharn insisted on speaking with you face to face."

"Very well. Make sure the conference room is ready. Does Sharn require the presence of any of the other officers?" Jim didn't want to disturb Spock or Bones if he didn't have to.

"No, sir. He only requested you."

Jim nodded, even though Uhura couldn't see him. "Alright. Tell Sharn I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Yes, sir."

There was a click as Uhura broke off the communication. Jim swept one last wistful gaze over the beautiful planet he stood on before sighing and ordering the transporter room to beam him up.

Once he was on the Enterprise, recycled air in his lungs, Jim made his way to his usual conference room. Uhura met him outside the door and handed him a PADD with a quick summary of Sharn's Starfleet career. Jim took it and quickly skimmed the biography.

"So, he's a pencil-pusher," he summarized when he had finished, handing the PADD back to Uhura.

"Yes, captain," she responded, but instead of smiling as she usually did in response to his blunt statements, her lips were turned in a frown. "But be careful. His 'pencil-pushing' has helped prevent planetary wars. It's how he earned his position."

"Understood." Jim nodded and stepped through the door.

"Admiral Sharn," he greeted once he was inside. The man on the monitor was in his sixties, with greying hair and a slightly squashed face, as if someone had accidentally sat on it.

"Greetings, Captain Kirk. I trust your mission is going well," the man said in a soft voice that didn't seem to match his appearance or his admittedly impressive record.

"It is, Admiral. Both my chief science officer and my chief medical examiner have reported breakthroughs that they believe will be of great benefit to the people of Kirrian-3. However, I doubt this is a courtesy call," Jim said.

The man nodded. "You are correct. Starfleet needs your help, Kirk. In eight days, a treaty is supposed to be signed on Reskar that will begin a formal commercial relationship between the planet and the Federation. Unfortunately, the ambassador to the planet has fallen gravely ill and can no longer undergo the strain of travel. The signing cannot be rescheduled, as the Reskarians consider that to be a sign of uncertainty."

"So you need me and my crew to secure the treaty," Jim finished.

"Yes. You are the closest member of the fleet to the planet, and you have the most experience for settling these matters, aside from the ambassadors. Reskar is rich in many of the prime components needed for the construction of new starships, and its position on the edge of Federation space means that we need to secure the planet's loyalty before anyone else has the chance to. You will be sent a copy of Ambassador Silar's notes so that you and your officers may study it and become familiar with the culture."

Jim stifled the urge to groan. He was a starship captain, for stars' sake! He was meant to be commanding a ship, not negotiating treaties with planets at the edge of Federation space. Still, an order was an order, and this was one that he had no true reason to disobey. "Very well, my crew and I will leave for Reskar tomorrow morning."

"No, captain. You will leave within the hour. Reskar is too important to risk wasting any time."

"All due respect, Admiral, but the research that my team is doing here is important, too. The plague could return to Kirrian-3 any time within the next two years. If my team doesn't collect the information that the Starfleet scientists need, millions of people could die," Kirk argued, crossing his arms in front of him. "The Enterprise is a science vessel."

"I am well aware of both the situation on Kirrian-3 and your ship's designation. However, this is an urgent matter. Your team will send what data they have to Starfleet, and if it is insufficient another team will be sent."

"But the nearest ship is the Gandhi, and it's three weeks from this location!"

The admiral raised an eyebrow. "You have your orders, captain. The Enterprise will leave for Reskar within the hour. Is that clear?"

Jim could see the determination in the man's gaze, and he knew that this was one fight he wouldn't be able to win. Sighing, he let his arms fall to his side. "Very well. We will contact you once again once we are orbiting Reskar."

Sharn nodded once and then the monitor went dark. Letting out another sigh, Kirk pushed a button on the computer next to him. "Uhura here, captain."

"Uhura, tell the transporter to get ready to beam up the landing party," Jim ordered. "We're leaving the planet. Tell Mr. Spock and McCoy to meet me on the bridge once they're on board."

"Yes, sir."

Another click and the communication ended. For a few moments, Jim simply stood there. Then, he squared his shoulders and left the conference room. He had his orders.

. . .

Spock stepped from the transporter, his senses quickly adjusting to the dimmer light of the Enterprise in comparison to the sunlight on the planet below. Next to him, McCoy did the same, grumbling under his breath as he did so.

"Mr. Spock," the ensign who worked the transporter said, "you and the doctor are requested on the bridge." Spock nodded and quickly left the room, confident that his science team would be able to handle transportation of the various samples and equipment that they had beamed up with them. McCoy followed behind.

"What do you think it is, Spock?" McCoy asked as they stepped into the turbo lift. "Why'd Jim make us pack up so quickly?"

"I do not like to make assertions without knowing all of the facts first, doctor," Spock replied.

"So make a guess."

Spock thought about arguing, but he decided that it wasn't worth the effort. The doctor had a habit of persisting in his questions until they were answered, regardless of Spock's own protests. "If I were to 'guess' I would say that the captain has received new orders from Starfleet command that supersedes our current orders and requires us to leave the planet quickly."

"What supersedes this? We're trying to cure a plague!" the doctor protested.

"Indeed, but there are others who are capable of doing the same work." Spock pointed out as the doors to the lift opened and they stepped out onto the bridge. McCoy didn't reply, but Spock knew that the doctor was far from satisfied with his explanation.

Together, they stepped down to where Jim sat, taking their places on either side of his chair. the captain nodded to them, acknowledging their presence before turning to look past them. "Uhura," he called, "is everyone on board?"

"Yes, captain. The scientists are securing the last of the samples in lab four right now. We should be ready to leave orbit within five minutes."

"Thank you. Mr. Sulu, plot a course to Reskar and prepare to depart, Warp 6."

"Aye, aye, captain."

Once the orders were given, the captain relaxed slightly in his chair and turned his attention Spock and the doctor. "I apologize for interrupting your research, gentlemen," he said. "Orders came in from Starfleet; we are to report to the planet Reskar and ensure the signing of a trade agreement between the Reskarians and the Federation."

Spock raised an eyebrow, but before he could comment, McCoy spoke, frustration evident in his voice. "A trade agreement? How is that more important than the work we were doing here? We're trying to cure a plague! Can't Starfleet find someone else to play politician?"

"Although that is not how I would have put it, I find myself agreeing with the doctor. Why were we chosen for this mission, captain?" Spock asked.

"The signing is set to occur in eight days, and the ambassador is too sick to travel. We are the only other vessel within range. As it is, the trip will take us seven days."

"Can't they reschedule? Surely the Reskarians would prefer to deal with someone they are familiar with."

Kirk shook his head. "If the Federation reschedules, the Reskarians will take that as a sign that we aren't committed to the deal," Jim said, and Spock could tell that the captain had already argued with someone, likely the Starfleet representative, about this. "The Gandhi will take over our research if what you've already collected isn't enough for Starfleet." McCoy frowned as if he wanted to argue further, but the doctor stayed silent.

"Reskar is a planet on the edge of Federation space," Spock said. "Contact was made with the planet ten years ago, but I was unaware that they had been appointed an ambassador. What do we know about the culture?"

"Not much, but apparently the ambassador was compiling a file before he got sick," the captain answered. "I've had his notes sent to both of your PADDs as well as Lieutenant Uhura's. I want the three of you to join me on the landing party."

"I'm a doctor, Jim, not an ambassador. What do you want me there for?" McCoy asked.

A smile crossed the captain's face. "And I'm a starship captain. You're there for emotional support, Bones, and to help me fake an illness if it comes to that." McCoy shook his head and grumbled under his breath, but his lips were pulled up ever so slightly in a smile.

In another captain, a willingness to lie in order to get out of an uncomfortable situation and possibly jeopardize their mission would have suggested to Spock an amoral disposition, but in his captain it seemed a sign of adaptability and innovation.

"Fine, Jim. But if I cause a diplomatic incident, I'm blaming it on you."

"I wouldn't expect anything else. Now go finish up that research, Bones," the captain ordered, still smiling. McCoy rolled his eyes before turning and leaving the bridge.

"Captain, lab four reports that all samples are secure. We are ready for departure," Uhura reported as the turbo lift doors closed behind McCoy.

"Thank you. Mr. Sulu, when you're ready, take us out of orbit, warp speed."

"Aye, aye, captain."

A few moments later, a jolt ran through the ship as they left orbit. Stars began to fly across the viewscreen at increasing speeds as they achieved warp speed. After a moment, Spock spoke. "Captain, I request permission to leave the bridge to study the information that was gathered on the planet's surface."

The captain turned to him with a grin. "Permission granted, Mr. Spock." Before Spock could turn to leave, the captain grabbed him by the arm, causing Spock to turn back around and raise an eyebrow. The captain usually refrained from physical contact with him, but the man was frequently very tactile with other members of the crew. His expression didn't indicate anything was wrong, so Spock decided that the action was merely instinctive. His theory was confirmed when the captain asked, "Are we still on for chess tonight?"

Spock nodded an affirmative. "Yes, captain. I will see you at 21:00." The captain smiled brightly at him.

"Good! I'll see you tonight, Mr. Spock." Spock nodded before turning away and stepping into the turbo lift. He had several experiments he wanted to run on the Illisgat flower before he filled out his report for Starfleet command.

. . .

At 21:07, Jim began to get worried. He was sitting in his quarters, chessboard neatly set up, waiting for Spock. And he had been for nearly a quarter of an hour. Spock had never been late to their nightly meeting before; in fact, he was usually five to ten minutes early. Jim began to wonder if he had done something to offend his friend. He thought back, but he couldn't recall anything that would cause Spock to skip their appointment without notifying him. He knew he had grabbed Spock's arm to get his attention when they had been on the bridge, but Spock had always forgiven him for his minor slips in etiquette in the past.

The beep of the door monitor drew Jim from his thoughts. "Come in," he called almost absently. The door slid open, and Spock stepped in. To anyone else, his expression would have seemed cold and calm, but Jim could tell that there was something off. It was almost as if the Vulcan was...embarrassed.

"Captain," Spock greeted, not moving from his spot just over the threshold. "I apologize for the tardy nature of my arrival. If you would prefer to reschedule-"

"Nonsense, Spock. It's not like I found something better to do in the seven minutes I've been waiting for you," Jim said with a grin before waving to the chair across from him where the Vulcan usually sat. "Sit down." Spock obeyed, and if Jim didn't know better he would have said that he looked relieved. "Now, I believe it is your turn to play white."

"No, captain, it is yours. I remember quite clearly."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, I will always trust your superior memory, my friend," he said, moving one of his pawns forward. "Although tonight it seems that I am the one with the better memory. I didn't think you would forget our plans."

The Vulcan looked down, apparently to study the chessboard and plan his move, but the tips of his ears flushed, giving away his embarrassment. "I did not forget, Captain-"

"Please, Spock, we're off-duty. It's Jim," Jim said, secretly enjoying the Vulcan's slight discomfort. It was strange to see Spock acting in a way that was almost human.

"Very well. I did not forget, Jim. I merely lost track of time," Spock explained, moving a pawn of his own.

"You, lose track of time? I didn't know that was possible. What captured your attention?" Jim laughed as he spoke, moving one of his pieces forward in a move he knew Spock would consider illogical.

"My tests with the Illisgat," Spock replied before frowning ever so slightly—his lips barely moved a millimeter—at the board and moving a piece of his own. "I believe I may have isolated the organic compound that will be the most useful for combating the effects of the plague. Our labs do not have equipment advanced enough for me to be entirely certain, but I included it in my report to the Starfleet medical officers. If I am correct, there is a ninety-three percent chance that they will be able to synthesize a full-strength vaccine from the compound before the next outbreak."

Jim moved his own piece, his knight this time, before responding. "So, you're telling me that even though we had to leave the planet almost three days before we intended, you and McCoy were able to gather enough information?"

"Indeed, capt-Jim. The Gandhi should not be forced to make the three-week trip after all."

"That's good to hear, Spock."

The rest of the game passed in their usual manner. After the first few minutes, they fell silent, all attention devoted to the board before them. After a little over an hour of play, Spock declared checkmate with a subtle smile, and Jim happily conceded the game. They talked for a few minutes more before Spock left for his quarters next door. Jim stayed up for another hour, studying the manual about Reskar before falling asleep with his PADD still on.

A/N: There's the first chapter! If you enjoyed it, please let me know; I love hearing from my readers!


	2. Warm Welcome

The trip to Reskar was uneventful, which Jim was thankful for. If they had encountered some alien probe demanding their presence or accusing them of war crimes, Jim would have lost it. And it honestly wasn't that much of a stretch in probability to consider; stranger things had happened before. Regardless, they were now in orbit around the planet, and Jim, Spock, Bones, and Uhura were seated in the conference room, receiving their final briefing from Admiral Sharn.

"I trust that you all read and memorized Ambassador Silar's notes on the proper etiquette of the Reskarian culture," the admiral stated, fixing Jim with a pointed stare. Jim resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes and merely nodded in response. He knew his crew had obeyed his instructions, in fact, he was fairly certain that both Spock and Uhura had had the information memorized days ago.

"Good. This trade agreement is of vital importance to the Federation. With a secure foothold here, we will be able to halt imperial expansion from encroaching on Federation territory." Again, Jim nodded. The admiral had told him as much the first time they had spoken. "Captain Kirk, you are the only one authorized to sign the agreement in the name of the Federation. Should you be incapacitated in some way, that authorization will fall to your First Officer and then your Chief Engineer. Should anyone else sign it, the agreement will be void."

"Understood, Admiral, although we shouldn't have that problem," Jim replied, carefully crossing his fingers under the table as he spoke. Typically, he wasn't a believer in things like karma and jinxes, but it was best not to take any chances. Over the past few years he had come to learn that the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

"I should hope not. You have been given a copy of the arrangement that was drafted a month ago by the Reskarians and Ambassador Silas. You are authorized to approve any alternative agreement that is within a seven percent margin of the original. The signing is to take place at 8:00 planet-time tomorrow morning, but Ambassador Silas believes that your landing party should beam down this evening to establish contact. While you're on the planet's surface, restrict your calls to the Enterprise to emergency only, and instruct your crew to do the same. The Reskarians must feel like you are giving this agreement your full attention. Good luck, Captain." The admiral nodded once, and then the screen turned black.

Jim turned to his friends. "Uhura, inform the Reskarian ambassador that you spoke with earlier that we would like to beam down a small party this evening if they are willing to host us. If they agree, tell them we will beam down at 18:00 planet-side time," he instructed.

"Yes, Captain."

"Bones, make sure you have the equipment you need to treat any minor allergic reactions. Silas's notes said that Reskarian food is safe for humans, but I want to be prepared just in case."

"Do you really think I'd leave without it, Jim?" Bones asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're allergic to just about everything in our world, and I wouldn't be surprised if that applied to Reskar as well."

Jim laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Thanks, Bones." Then he turned to Spock, who was still staring at the black screen, clearly thinking about something. "Spock?" The Vulcan turned to him, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Go with Uhura and make sure that Scotty knows that our communications will be limited while we are on the planet's surface. Tell him that we'll contact him when we're ready to beam up but otherwise, we'll stay quiet." Jim turned to Uhura and Bones. "Meet at the transporter in formal wear at 17:55." The three of them nodded, and Jim dismissed them.

Once he was alone in the room, he gave in to the urge to bury his head in his hands. He hadn't even stepped onto the planet yet and he already had a headache. When this was over, Admiral Sharn would owe him a favor.

Half an hour later, Jim was standing on the transporter pad in his formal attire, resisting the urge to itch the skin under his sleeves. One would think that with all of their scientific advancements Starfleet would have found a way to make the formal wear for officers comfortable, but Jim wasn't that lucky. It didn't help that most of his memories attached to the outfit were of court marshals.

Thankfully, he was distracted from his discomfort by the arrival of Uhura and Spock. They nodded to him before stepping onto the platform. "Mr. Scott has the conn, Captain, and he has been briefed on our communication situation," Spock reported as he moved to stand next to Jim.

"Thank you, Spock. Scotty'll take care of the Enterprise while we're gone." Jim grinned, remembering the last time he had left Scotty with the conn for an extended amount of time. The man would make an excellent captain, but Jim knew Scotty would rather be knee-deep in engine parts than sitting in the captain's chair. Thankfully, this mission would only last a day or so.

A moment later, the door slid open again to reveal Bones, dressed in his formal wear with a tricorder hanging at his side and a pouch clipped to his belt that Jim knew contained a variety of hypos. "Do you know how hard it is to find a hypo that can counteract an allergic reaction when the patient is also allergic to half of the hypos?" the doctor asked with a grumble as he stepped onto the platform. "I swear, one of these days, Jim, I'm gonna kill you when I'm trying to save you because of some reaction you'll have."

Jim only grinned. "I'm sure I'm in good hands, Bones. You are, after all, a doctor." He then turned to the ensign manning the transporter. "Energize," he ordered, and a few seconds later, the world around him disappeared, replaced by an alien environment.

The first thing Jim noticed was the sky. It was dark blue, the same color one would see in the evening on Earth. What took his breath away, however, was the brilliant white band that stretched across the sky. Reskar was a ringed planet, Jim knew, but he had never been on the surface of such a planet himself. It was gorgeous.

He quickly ripped his attention from the sky to focus on the two beings standing not far in front of them. The Reskarians were humanoid, with long limbs and thin frames that towered a good foot taller than Jim. They wore loose robes of neutral color. Their skin was deep blue, not unlike that of the sky, and it seemed to shimmer as they moved. Their faces were oblong, with long ears, narrow mouths, and small noses and eyes. Both of the beings were completely bald.

"Greetings," one of them said, bending slightly at the waist and sweeping one hand out, palm up, toward Jim and his party. "I am Teanar of the Reskarian High Council. This is my attendant, Eson." The other Reskarian, who was slightly shorter, Jim realized, copied Teanar's movement.

Drawing on his memory of the ambassador's notes, Jim bowed slightly at the waist and mimicked the gesture. "We are honored to greet you, Teanar of the Reskarian High Council, and we extend our greetings to your aide as well." Out of the corner of his eye, Jim could see Bones, Spock, and Uhura copy his movement. "I am James Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise. This is my First Officer Spock, my Chief Medical Examiner Leonard McCoy, and my Communications Officer Nyota Uhura."

The Reskarian councilman smiled—at least that was what Jim interpreted the expression as—and nodded. "We are honored with your presence. When we were told that Ambassador Silas had fallen ill and become to sick to travel, we feared the Federation would not be able to trade with us."

Jim smiled. "The Federation would not allow such a thing to prevent a friendship with Reskar," he said, hoping it was what the Reskarian wanted to hear. Evidently, it was, for Teanar smiled again.

"It seems our faith was well placed. Please, follow me. You are to be honored guests at the House of Orolon, Head of the High Council, tonight."

Jim nodded and followed the Reskarians, turning his attention to the world around him as they walked. They were in Alar Tos, the capital city of Reskar, and it was breathtaking. The world, Jim knew from the ambassador's notes, was mostly forested, even at higher elevations, and the city was no exception. Gleaming white buildings stretched a hundred and two hundred feet into the sky alongside trees that were nearly as tall. Like the people, the trees of Reskar were tall and thin, with branches reaching out to form a crown in the last twenty feet. The trunks were a soft grey color, accenting the beautiful gold leaves.

"Fascinating," Spock murmured. Jim turned to the man walking next to him and saw that the Vulcan was also admiring the trees. "It seems the trunks are made of a sturdy but flexible organic compound. See how they sway with the wind yet do not break?"

Jim watched, and sure enough as a chilly breeze rippled through the air, the trees bent back and forth without breaking. "Incredible."

Their escort must have overheard their conversation, as they both stopped. "The trees are called Rekka, and they grow like this only around Alar Tos," the aide explained. "There are many similar varieties across Reskar, but they only grow to thirty or forty feet and have much thicker trunks."

"They're gorgeous," Uhura said from behind Jim, and he could picture the smile on her face.

While he wanted to examine the trees closer, he was wary of taking to long to reach wherever it was they were going. "Please, we did not mean to interrupt."

Eson glanced at the councilor, who nodded, before turning back to Jim with a smile. "It is of no concern. It is good to see outworlders who are interested in Reskarian life."

"Indeed," Teanar intoned. His voice was deep and rumbling, very dissimilar to his aide's higher and softer voice. "Come, we are almost there."

They walked for a few minutes longer, before arriving in front of a large white building. While many of the buildings they had passed were tall, this one was only about two stories tall but sprawled across the tree-dotted landscape. The grass, green like Earth's, was carefully maintained, reminding Jim of a French mansion from old Earth, complete with the winding walk up to the door.

They were met at the door by two more Reskarians, these dressed in silver robes decorated with a symbol that Jim didn't recognize. They bowed to Teanar and opened the door. The counselor placed three of the long fingers of his right hand on his forehead and nodded deeply before stepping across the threshold. Jim and his party copied the gesture, which indicated respect for the host of the home if Jim remembered correctly, and stepped into the home.

They were led through several rooms before stepping into what was clearly a waiting room of some kind. The room was lit by a large window and several floating crystal orbs, which threw a golden light over the room.

"If you will please wait here, a servant will retrieve you in a few minutes and you will be honored guests at Orolon's table for the evening meal," Teanar said, extending his hand palm up and sweeping it in an arc, this time in the opposite direction. A farewell.

"We are honored. We thank you for your hospitality, Councilman Teanar, and extend our thanks to your aide as well." Kirk copied the motion, earning him a slight smile from the aide before both Reskarians turned and left the room.

Once they were gone, Kirk turned back to his crew. "This place is amazing, Jim," Bones said, and Uhura nodded enthusiastically.

"Indeed," Spock spoke up, and Jim could see a light in Spock's eyes. It was the spark that always seemed to appear whenever he had the chance to study something he found fascinating. "The architecture seems to mimic the nature of the Rekka trees while still allowing for functionality. Aside from this building, they have all made careful use of vertical space."

Bones nodded. "The ambassador's notes said that the Reskarians revere heights. The capital city is the highest city on the planet."

Uhura frowned. "If they revere heights, why is the High Councilor's home not very tall?"

At that question, Jim spoke up. "It's probably a show of humility. Do the Reskarians worship any gods?" He directed the question at Spock, and the Vulcan nodded.

"The worship a single genderless deity that is said to take the form of a bird resembling what you might describe as a phoenix, Captain," Spock replied with a nod. "The deity's name is known only to the high priests of the faith, and it is referred to as the Great One by all other Reskarians. Fascinating, that a religion can exist that purposefully keeps such information from its worshippers."

Jim nodded. "The low house is in honor of that then. The High Councilor wouldn't want to be accused of raising himself to a position of godhood."

Before anyone else could speak, the door opened to reveal a shorter Reskarian dressed in silver robes like the ones the guards by the door had worn. "Captain James Kirk of the USS Enterprise," the Reskarian said, and Kirk realized with a start that the Reskarian was a woman. Her voice and slight curves were the only things that set her apart from the male Reskarians he had seen so far. "I have the honor of guiding you and your crew this evening. Please, follow me."

Jim and the others followed as the woman led them deeper into the large house. Eventually, they came to a stop in front of two large double doors made from some sort of dark metal, a contrast to the light colors of the rest of the house. The woman knocked on the door and then waited. Jim didn't hear anything but after a few moments, the woman pushed open the door and stepped through. Jim followed, swallowing the exclamation of surprise that threatened to escape when he saw the room.

Room wasn't quite an accurate description. In reality, the space was more of an open-air courtyard, covered in a soft carpet of grass and sporting several tall trees. In the middle of the courtyard was a long table where a half dozen Reskarians were seated, all wearing silver robes. At the head of the table sat a Reskarian in intricate robes, a silver circlet on his head. Orolon most likely. The four seats nearest to him were empty.

"High Councilor Orolon," the Reskarian woman greeted, bowing and sweeping her arm out. "May I present Captain James Kirk of the USS Enterprise, First Officer Spock, Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy, and Communications Officer Nyota Uhura." As their names were called, they each stepped forward and copied the now-familiar gesture of respect.

Orolon stood from his place and echoed the gesture. "My house is honored. Please, be seated."

Jim followed the servant to the seat on Orolon's right. He was about to move to sit, when he caught Uhura's eye. She shook her head slightly, and Jim fought back a rush of embarrassment. Of course, he had forgotten that meals were a very important, and very regulated, part of Reskarian culture. Once everyone was standing behind their chairs, the rest of the table rose as well. Together, everyone placed three fingers on their forehead and nodded deeply to Orolon. He returned the gesture, and everyone sat. Then, Orolon clapped his hands, and servants approached from the edges of the courtyard bearing plates laden with exotic-looking fruits and other foods.

Once they were served, Jim waited patiently for Orolon to take his first bite. Then it was Jim's turn, then Spock, then Bones, and finally Uhura, according to their rank and position in his crew. The rest of the Reskarians sitting at the table continued the pattern until everyone had taken a bite. After that, the atmosphere relaxed significantly, and before long, Jim found himself in conversation with the high councilor.

"High Councilor, I am honored that you would invite me and my party to dine with you," Jim said honestly. "If you will forgive me for saying so, I was uncertain of Reskarian food, but I see my fears were unfounded." And they really had been. Jim wasn't exactly sure what he was eating at the moment—some kind of soup—but it was delicious, spicy but not enough to be uncomfortable. Much better than the food the replicators made. The purple fruit he had eaten earlier had been equally good, although he wasn't certain about the drink he had been given. It had a strangely thick consistency, as if he were drinking syrup. Still, the meal had greatly surpassed his expectations.

Orolon smiled slightly. "Ambassador Silas had a very similar reaction when he first tried our cuisine. I am gratified to hear that you enjoy it. Essitari is one of my favorite dishes." He paused for a moment, regarding Jim with an odd look in his eye. "If you will forgive a social lapse of my own," he said finally, "I must admit that I am surprised that the Federation sent a starship captain to secure the trade agreement instead of another ambassador."

How was Jim supposed to respond to that? He didn't want the high councilor to feel as if the Federation was underselling him. "Unfortunately, there were no other ambassadors close enough to reach Reskar in time," Jim finally said. "However, my crew and I have training in several of the same duties as those of the ambassadors."

"Of course, I did not mean to insult you or your crew," Orolon said, bowing his head slightly.

"No offense taken, High Councilor," Jim replied with a smile. "My crew and I are grateful for the chance to visit your beautiful planet. I believe my First Officer has taken an interest in your local plant life." At the sound of his title, Spock turned toward him, eyebrow raised. "I was telling the high councilor of your fascination with the Rekka trees," Jim explained.

Spock nodded. "Indeed. Their biological structure is quite incredible." The councilor nodded with that strange not-smile all Reskians seemed to have and told Spock of a study that had been done on the trees only a few years earlier. Before long, the two of them were in deep conversation.

Jim smiled at the exchange and turned to Uhura. Both her plate and bowl were empty; apparently he was not the only one who had enjoyed the meal as much as he had. Even her drink was nearly gone. "How are you enjoying the meal, Lieutenant?"

"Hmm, oh, it's very good, Captain," she responded without looking at him. Her attention was clearly focused elsewhere.

"Is something wrong, Uhura?" Jim questioned, instantly on alert. Uhura quickly shook her head, however, and Jim let himself relax.

"No, Captain. I'm just distracted. I switched off my universal translator for a few moments to listen to the native language. It's beautiful." She smiled, an excited gleam in her eyes.

"Really? What does it sound like?" he asked. Uhura had a preternatural knack for languages, he knew. If he left her here on the planet without a translator for a week, he suspected she'd be able to hold an eloquent conversation in Reskarian by the end of it.

She tilted her head before responding, obviously listening to the sounds around her. After a few moments, she said, "It's almost musical, like chimes. The words are very individual, separated from one another, but not enough for the speech to be slow. Altogether, it's like listening to a song."

"I'm sure if I gave you long enough, you'd be able to sing it," Jim laughed, and Uhura blushed slightly, ducking her head. They spoke for a while longer, but eventually Jim let the woman return to her listening, turning his attention back to the conversation between Spock and the High Councilor.

"I must admit, Commander, I am surprised to find a Vulcan a member of an otherwise human crew," Orolon was saying.

Jim smiled to himself at that comment, already knowing what Spock would say. "I find that my time among humans has been most beneficial, despite their often illogical actions."

"The benefit the rest of the crew receives from his presence is far greater," Jim said, unable to resist joining the conversation any longer. "Spock's logic and wisdom have saved us on more than one occassion." Spock raised an eyebrow at him, but Jim knew the Vulcan was secretly pleased.

Orolon smiled his not-smile. "I believe you, Captain."

The dinner lasted for another hour and a half. Once the plates had been cleared away, Orolon stood. "Honored guests," he said. "I would like to extend to you an invitation to spend the evening within the walls of my home. Rooms have already been prepared for you, as have additional outfits."

For a moment, Jim didn't know how to respond. Eventually, he decided it was best to play it safe and avoid offending the high councilor. "Thank you, High Councilor. My party and I would be greatly honored." Evidently, that was the right answer, for the councilor smiled and gestured for a few servants to take them to their rooms.

Jim and his crew followed the servants back inside the large home and up an elegantly carved flight of stairs to the second level of the house. This floor was decorated in darker, warmer colors than the floor below had been. It was also carpeted, unlike the marble they had been walking on.

After a minute or so, they turned down a hallway and came to a stop. The hall was fairly short and consisted of only two doors. Jim frowned in confusion, and a quick glance at his crew told him that they felt the same. Even Spock had raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.

One of the servants, a woman, turned toward them. "We deeply apologize for the accommodations. A group of refugees from the northern mountains arrived during the evening meal and were given the majority of the rooms," she explained.

Jim dismissed the apology with a smile. "It's fine," he assured before turning to his friends. "So, how do we want to do this?"

To Jim's surprise, Spock was the first one to speak. "If you would not be averse to sharing quarters with me, Captain, I have a few matters I would like to discuss with you before the signing tomorrow."

Jim worked to hide his shock. "Sounds good, Spock. If Uhura can suffer through McCoy's snoring that is," he joked, nudging his old friend in the ribs.

Bones rolled his eyes. "I'll have you know that I haven't snored since the academy, Jim. Must have been something about sharing a room with you," he declared, crossing his arms in front of him.

Jim laughed softly before becoming serious again. "You can have a room to yourself if you want, Uhura," he told the woman, but she shook her head.

"I'm fine with rooming with the doctor, Captain," she assured him.

"If you are decided, we will leave you to your rest," the lead Reskarian said, bowing slightly. "Someone will come to escort you to the signing at 7:30."

"Of course," Jim replied, bowing as well. "Thank you for your help." The Reskarians bowed again and then left, walking back down the hall the way they had come.

Jim turned back to his crew. "Remember that the signing is at 8:00. We'll meet in my quarters at 7:00 for a final briefing." Bones and Uhura both nodded their understanding, and once again Jim found himself grateful for such wonderful people to explore the galaxy with.

"See you in the morning, Jim," Bones said before turning and stepping to the door on the right, opening it so that Uhura could step through. Then the door closed, and Jim turned back to Spock.

"Well, let's see what Reskarian quarters look like."

. . .

A/N I hope you liked this second chapter! I had a lot of fun designing the Reskarians and their world. If you have questions or feel like there is something about them that I didn't clarify, please ask.


	3. In the Night

Reskarian quarters, it turned out, were rather spacious. The room was sparsely furnished with a couch, a small table, a wardrobe, and a single bed of generous size. A large window that consumed nearly an entire wall added to the open feel. Around the room, crystal lights hung on the wall, activated—if Jim remembered correctly—by a touch. A narrow door was situated near the far corner of the room, likely leading to a bathroom. In all, it was a comfortable space, aside from the obvious problem with the sleeping arrangements.

Letting out a small sigh, Jim made his way over to the couch and flopped down. "All things considered, it's not a bad place," he remarked, letting his eyes slip closed for a few moments. He opened them again when he felt the couch dip as Spock sat next to him.

"Indeed, Captain," the Vulcan replied, and there was silence for a few moments, during which time Jim's eyes slipped closed once more.

After nearly a minute, Jim reluctantly pried his eyes open and turned to his First Officer. "What did you need to talk to me about, Spock?" he asked.

Spock remained silent for a moment longer as he studied Jim, and the man had to resist the urge to squirm under the gaze. "It can wait until the morning, Captain. You are clearly fatigued," he finally said.

"I'm fine, Spock," Jim lied, trying to inject some energy into his voice. "What did you need?"

Spock raised an eyebrow but didn't contradict Jim's assertion. "While speaking with High Councilor Orolon, I was made aware of a source of tension in Reskar that was not mentioned in Ambassador Silas's notes. I do not believe that it will interfere with our mission, but it is important that as the Federation's chosen representative you be made aware of it."

All at once, all exhaustion left Jim's body, replaced by the alertness that came whenever there was a situation that could potentially endanger his crew. "What is it?"

"It seems that there is a small faction of the Reskarians that oppose entering into the trade agreement. Orolon assured me that the number is marginal, however."

Jim nodded slowly, clasping his hands together. "The High Council has already voted in favor of the proposal though, haven't they?"

"Yes, Captain. As I said, the opposing faction is small in number, and the High Councilor does not predict any hostilities."

A sigh escaped Jim, and he resisted the urge to massage his temples. No doubt Spock thought he was behaving unprofessionally, but Jim was honestly too tired to care. "Thank you, Spock, for bringing this to my attention," he said, smiling slightly at his First Officer, who nodded. "If you don't mind, I am going to see if there's anything to wear other than this uniform in that wardrobe."

Spock didn't reply, and to someone who didn't know him and his expressions as well as Jim did it might have appeared that he didn't react at all. But Jim recognized the barest upturn of the Vulcan's lips as a sign of amused approval.

Standing from the couch, Jim made his way over to the wardrobe, which seemed to be made out of the wood of the trees that they had seen earlier. It was an elegantly carved thing, covered in detailed images of some forest scene, but Jim was too tired to truly care. Inside, four outfits hung. Two were formal robes in silver, similar to the ones that Orolon had been wearing at dinner. The other two were also robes, but these were of a lightweight brown fabric that was soft to the touch. Sleepwear.

Pulling one of the sleep robes out of the wardrobe, Jim held it up to himself. It seemed to be about his size. Had he been more awake, he might have been curious about how the Reskarians had gotten his measurements, but tonight he was simply grateful. Crossing the room, Jim stepped inside the bathroom to change. When he stepped back out, now dressed in the comfortable robe, he noticed that Spock hadn't moved from his place on the couch.

"You should change into these robes, Spock," Jim suggested. "They're far more comfortable than the formal uniforms."

Even despite the distance and the darkness, Jim could see Spock's eyebrow quirk upward. Still, the Vulcan rose from his spot on the couch and moved toward the wardrobe. Jim smirked a little at the small victory as Spock stepped past him and into the bathroom, allowing Jim to carry out his plan.

. . .

When Spock emerged from the bathroom, now dressed in the light robe that the captain had suggested, he swept his gaze over the room in search of the man and frowned slightly when his eyes fell on the couch. Stretched across the too-small seat was his captain, legs dangling off the edge of the couch, and wrapped in one of the blankets taken from the bed.

"Captain, what are you doing?" he asked, hands clasped behind his back in the same stance he took whenever he had a reason to argue with his captain for the man's benefit. The captain didn't reply, but even though the man's back was to him, Spock knew he wasn't asleep, merely faking. He repeated the question, and when that failed to elicit a response, he tried an alternate tactic.

"Jim," he said, crossing the room until he was standing a few feet from the couch, "I know you are attempting to force me to 'take the bed' by faking sleep. However, the fact that you feel the need to attempt to deceive me informs me that you are aware of the illogic of your actions."

As he had hoped, his captain turned toward him. "I don't know what you mean, Spock," he said, but Spock saw through his innocent mask. They had had this conversation before, several times in fact, on various planets where the hosting parties had either misjudged their personal situation or simply did not have the space to provide additional accommodations.

"Yes you do, Captain. Vulcans do not require as much rest as humans, therefore it is logical that you sleep on the bed while I meditate on the couch."

"But I'm already comfortable here," Jim protested, causing Spock to raise an eyebrow in blatant disbelief and glance once more at the man's legs that extended 17.3 inches beyond the end of the couch.

"I doubt that quite highly. You are obviously exhausted, and you will need rest if you are to perform to the best of your capabilities tomorrow," Spock pointed out.

Jim sighed, and Spock knew that he had won. "Fine, Spock," he said, standing from the couch and causing the blanket to tumble to the ground. "But don't hesitate to wake me if that couch gets too uncomfortable."

Spock didn't reply. Instead, he picked up the fallen blanket and carried it over to the bed. Jim looked like he wanted to say something about it, eyes locked with Spock's, but he wisely kept silent as Spock deposited the blanket. After several moments, Jim looked away and sighed. "Goodnight, Spock."

"Goodnight, Captain."

After a few minutes, Spock heard his captain's breathing level out into the steady, slow rhythm of sleep. Satisfied that the man would be able to rest, Spock settled onto the floor in front of the couch. For several moments, he simply sat there with his legs crossed and eyes closed and focused on his breathing. Eventually, he began the process of meditation.

Typically, his meditation consisted of a review of the past few days. Tonight, however, his thoughts were focused solely on today. Reskar was quite fascinating. The local flora was only part of his interest, however, as he found the cultural customs of the planet equally intriguing. So much of their daily routine was guided by a set of rules and expectations. Spock couldn't help but appreciate the logic of such controlled interactions. From the ambassador's notes, he had learned that there was very rarely an occasion where one Reskarian misinterpreted something that another had done or said, as every action and its meaning was cataloged and understood by all present.

If only humans had such a system.

Even after almost two years in space with this particular crew, Spock still found himself confused by many of their actions. Particularly those of the officers and the captain. Once, he had asked the captain about the idiosyncrasies of certain members of the Enterprise, but the man had simply laughed and said that they were part of what made such people good at their jobs. Spock could not see how acerbic behavior improved the performance of a medical officer, but he had let the subject drop.

Almost unconsciously, his thoughts shifted from the culture of the Reskarians to the behavior of one James T. Kirk. The man always complained when the Enterprise was assigned missions of a nature such as this one, but he was well suited for them. He navigated the social customs of a foreign culture with remarkable ease despite being given very little time to learn their nuances. It was yet another trait in a long list—only in his mind, of course—that made him an exemplary captain. In fact—

Spock's meditative trance was suddenly disrupted by loud and repeated knocking on the door. Surmising that there was little reason for one of the Reskarians to disturb their rest, Spock decided that it was likely either Lieutenant Uhura or Doctor McCoy at the door. Given the force of the blows against the door, the doctor was the more logical option. Reaching the door, Spock opened it to find that his assumption had been correct. Doctor McCoy stood at the door, worry etched in his features.

"Uhura's sick; I think there was something in the food that she's allergic to, but none of my hypos have had an effect on her. Her fever is already over 104, and it's rising," the doctor rushed out. "I need to get her back to the ship where I can run a full diagnostic."

Before Spock could answer, another voice cut in. "Are you sure it's an allergic reaction?" The captain was now standing at Spock's side, concern obvious in his voice. Although it was hardly pertinent to the situation, Spock couldn't help but notice the captain's disheveled hair and rumpled clothing. In a different circumstance, he would have looked relaxed. Currently, however, he was anything but.

"No!" the doctor exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure of anything! None of the hypos are working, Jim. I need to get to the ship."

"Okay, Bones. Let's get back to Uhura, and I'll call Scotty," the captain said, and his voice became calm, the voice of a captain whose job it was to manage situations exactly like this.

They followed the doctor to the other room. Uhura was laying on the bed, and even in the dark Spock could see the sweat beading on her forehead even as she shivered. McCoy was at her side in an instant, digging a hypo out of his bed and muttering something under his breath. The captain stepped up next to him and placed a hand on Uhura's forehead before drawing it back an instant later as if he had been hurt by the contact.

"She's burning up, Bones," he breathed out.

"I know, Jim, I know. Now get me on that ship!" the doctor demanded, not taking his eyes off of his patient as he injected Uhura with another hypo and watched for any signs of change.

The captain nodded and pulled out his communicator, flipping it open in a single movement. "Kirk to Enterprise."

There was silence for a moment before the device crackled, and Mr. Scott's voice was heard. "Scotty here, Captain. Something wrong?"

"Uhura's sick. Lock onto our signal and prepare the transport room to beam up her and Doctor McCoy," Kirk ordered, his voice crisp and controlled despite the situation. Another trait that made him a good captain.

"Aye, Captain. What about you and Mr. Spock?"

"We're staying, Scotty. The agreement won't be signed until tomorrow. We will maintain radio silence until then unless something goes wrong."

"Understood. Ready on your signal, Captain."

The captain locked eyes with McCoy who was still bent over Uhura, and the doctor nodded. "Energize." A moment later, both the doctor and the lieutenant were gone. When the captain didn't move after several seconds, Spock reached out and touched his shoulder for a brief instant.

"Captain, Doctor McCoy is an expert in his field. If anything can be done for Lieutenant Uhura, it will be," he said.

"I know, Spock. It's just strange that she had a reaction and I didn't. We ate the same foods, and Bones is always telling me that I'm allergic to just about everything, and as far as I know, Uhura isn't allergic to anything." He shrugged, and all of a sudden, Spock could see fatigue wash over him. Now that his role in the crisis was over, the collected facade he presented fell.

"By my estimates, it is 2:23 planet-time. There is no point in exhausting yourself further by hypothesizing what may have happened as we will know for certain in a few hours after the signing is complete. Until then, you should rest."

The captain's lips turned up ever so slightly. "I don't suppose I can convince you to take the bed, can I?"

"You cannot."

"Very well, Mr. Spock. I bow to your logic," the captain conceded, the small smile still on his lips. "I'm going to need some more sleep if I'm going to have to play diplomat in the morning." Spock nodded in response and followed his captain out of the room and back to their shared quarters.

Within a quarter of an hour, the captain was asleep on the bed, and Spock was sitting in meditation at the base of the couch. He was unable to achieve the inner peace he sought, however, as each current of his mind seemed to be undercut by a vague impression of unease. Try as he might, Spock could not identify the root of this feeling, and his attempts to suppress it failed. When morning came and Spock withdrew himself from his meditation, his body was just as weary as it had been when he had begun.

. . .

Jim woke to light streaming in from the large window. Squinting, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, and once they did, he turned his gaze to the rest of the room, and he found it empty. Where was Spock? Frowning, he jumped from the bed, but the covers he was tangled in restricted his movement, causing him to fall to the ground with a dull thud. As he slowly climbed to his feet and extracted himself from the blankets, he heard a door slide open. Looking up, he saw Spock emerge from the bathroom, now wearing silver robes, the brown ones folded neatly over his arm.

"There you are, Spock. Good morning," Jim greeted with a sheepish smile, suddenly very aware of the odd position he was in. One of his legs was still tangled in a blanket, and he was leaning against the bed for stability. Hardly professional.

"Good morning, Captain," Spock replied. Then he looked Jim over and raised an eyebrow. "Do you require assistance?"

Jim fought back the blush that threatened to color his cheeks. Spock was probably mentally adding this situation to a list of all the reasons Jim was a horrible captain, which was fair. "No, thank you." In an effort to distract himself from his embarrassment, Jim said, "Those robes fit you surprisingly well." The instant the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. But, it was too late to turn back, so he plowed forward, hoping he wasn't digging a bigger hole for himself. "I wonder how the Reskarians made them so quickly. I mean, all the ones we've met are around seven feet tall."

Thankfully, Spock took the bait. Tilting his head ever so slightly, he said, "It is possible that they based the measurements off of their interactions with Ambassador Silas. However, that does not account for the exactness of the measurements, as my build is more narrow than most humans. Perhaps Reskarians have an increased sense of spatial awareness that allows them to determine our exact measurements simply by observing us."

If Jim had been paying much attention to what Spock had been saying, he might have been uncomfortable about the idea of a Reskarian studying him so closely. As it was, however, he simply nodded along as he finally untangled his leg from the covers and stood to his full height. Once that was accomplished, he stepped past Spock to the wardrobe and pulled out his own silver raised an eyebrow at him as he did so, and Jim belatedly realized that the man likely expected him to contribute to the conversation as well.

"If I were to borrow a phrase of yours, Mr. Spock, I believe I would describe that as fascinating," Jim said, and his relaxed grin wasn't even too forced, even if he wasn't exactly sure what it was that he found fascinating. Something about Reskarian spacial awareness, he thought.

Thankfully, Spock seemed satisfied enough with that. His expression didn't change, but he inclined his head slightly in a movement that Jim had come to identify as an indicator that Spock was pleased, or at least reasonably satisfied. "Indeed."

Jim grinned again before stepping past Spock and into the bathroom to change. He did so quickly, then took the time to tame his messy hair before exiting the bathroom. Unfortunately, his robes had no pockets, nor did they have anything which he could use to attach his communicator to them, so he settled for slipping the device into his boot. It was uncomfortable, but thanks to the size of the boots, not too noticeable. He wasn't vain, but he did want to give off a good impression today. Across the room, Spock raised an eyebrow at the movement before copying it.

"Captain, there is someone approaching our quarters," he said after he had straightened back up. His hands were clasped behind him in his usual stance, and Jim felt the familiarity between them fade away, replaced with Spock's vigilant professionalism. A part of Jim was saddened by the shift, but he was also grateful for it. He would need his First Officer's help upholding his 'Captain of a starship' image today.

"Are you ready to play diplomat, Mr. Spock?"

. . .

A/N: You were expecting a 'there's only one bed, guess we'll have to share' weren't you? Not this time, my friends! (Remember, this is rated T.) Other than that, what did you think? I love hearing from you!


	4. Grinning Faces

A/N: Hope you enjoy the chapter! The action is gonna pick up a little (not so much in this chapter, but in the next few) but I hope you like it. Also, there's a fair bit of Spock POV, which is both challenging and exciting to write. As a side note, I'm posting this chapter as a birthday present to myself.

As Spock followed his captain and the Reskarian servant who had been sent to fetch them, he examined the house that they walked through. In all, it was very stately in appearance. The upstairs where they had spent the night had followed a warmer color palette, but Spock had taken note of the intricate weaving of the various tapestries they had passed as well as the elegance of the carpeting. Downstairs, the halls they walked were floored in some kind of light marble or stone, and the walls were similarly colored. Nearly every room or hallway had some form of natural lighting, contributing to the overall open and airy feel of the lower floor of the building. Examining the architecture carefully and calling to mind the history that had been a part of the ambassador's notes, Spock hypothesized that the building as a whole was likely not over two hundred years old and was probably even younger than that. Thus, it was logical to assume that it was built when Orolon's family came into power.

Eventually, Spock turned his attention away from the architecture and design of the house and focused instead on his captain. The man walked—although strode might have been a more accurate descriptor for his confident gait—with his back straight and his eyes forward. Every so often, Spock saw him glance to the side as they passed a particularly interesting sculpture or a window that allowed a view of some of the grounds around the house, but for the most part, he kept his attention on the Reskarian guide in front of them. Typically, the man expressed great interest in the art and beauty that could be found in other worlds and rarely passed up an opportunity to at least examine such examples, but now he barely spared them a glance.

Although he couldn't see his captain's face from his position behind him, Spock could read tension in the man's shoulders, no doubt leftover from the incident with Lieutenant Uhura last night. The captain had fallen asleep not long after they had reentered their shared quarters, but Spock knew the man's sleep had been far from restful. Thanks to his Vulcan hearing, he knew that his captain had moved frequently throughout the night, quickly becoming entangled in the bedding and contributing to the general unease that had kept Spock from achieving a truly successful meditation. However, as obvious as the signs were to Spock, he knew that very few others among even his own crew would be able to sense the captain's tense exhaustion and worry. As much as he hated it, James Kirk was an excellent diplomat, able to conceal and portray emotions with a proficiency uncommon in humans.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Spock?" the captain suddenly asked, turning around to face him and causing their escort to halt in the middle of the hallway. Evidently, Spock's scrutiny had not gone unnoticed, and he inwardly berated himself for distracting his captain.

"No, Captain, I was merely lost in thought," Spock answered easily, keeping his face blank. His captain surveyed him for a moment before nodding and turning back around without another word. A few seconds later, they resumed their walk, and Spock was careful to keep his gaze off of his captain.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a large set of doors, not unlike the ones that had led out to the courtyard where they had eaten their evening meal the night before. Once again, the servant knocked and waited. There was no perceivable answer from inside so far as Spock could tell, but after twelve seconds, the woman pulled open the door and gestured for them to follow her inside.

The room, similar to the rest of the house, was in light colors. The walls were made of a light blue crystalline substance that Spock recognized as one of Reskar's most prized resources, and there was natural light coming from a large window on one wall, not unlike the window that had been in his and the captain's shared quarters. Spock took these features in in an instant before turning his attention to the center of the room, where a table made of the same crystalline substance stood laden with several different Reskarian dishes. The table's only occupant was Councilor Teanar who rose as they stepped into the room. Behind him stood his aid, Eson.

"You honor me with your presence, Captain Kirk, Commander Spock," the Reskarian intoned in his deep voice. "I regret that High Councilor Orolon is unable to eat with us, as he is preparing for the signing. Please, join me."

Spock stepped up to the seat that the servant indicated and raised his fingers to his forehead in the same gesture of respect that had been used the night before. Both Teanar and the captain did the same and then the three of them were seated. At a curt gesture from Teanar, Eson stepped forward and served them each a portion of the fruit that sat in the center of the table before retreating back to the corner of the room once more. Teanar ate first, then the captain, and finally Spock. The fruit had a pleasingly subtle sweetness to it.

After a few seconds of silence as they each swallowed their first bite of food, the captain spoke. "This material that the room and table are made out of, what is it?"

"Its true name would be difficult for a human tongue to pronounce, but translated into your language, it is called 'skygift'," Teanar replied, running a hand along the smooth top of the table.

"Skygift," the captain repeated. "That is an unusual name for a mineral. How did it come to be called this?"

Teanar's mouth turned up slightly. "Tradition holds that the Great One gifted it to the first Reskarians millennia ago and taught them how to carve it to their use. It has a very great strength, but with the proper tools, it can be sculpted far more easily than stone or marble."

At that, Spock joined the conversation. "Fascinating. Is it used often in construction, Councilor, or is it largely used for the arts?" From the ambassador's notes, he had learned that many Reskarians considered the creation of art to be an almost spiritual calling, with great artists being revered almost as much as some of the high priests. It seemed likely that a mineral from their god would be highly praised by these artists.

"Mostly the arts, Commander Spock," the councilor replied, confirming Spock's theory. "Excessive use of the material in our world's past has caused it to become rarer and more expensive. There are some, however, who can afford the cost and use it in their homes. As you can see, it is well worth the price."

For a quarter of an hour, the conversation revolved around the various materials beyond skygift that the Reskarians used for their construction as well as their artistic endeavors. As the captain asked about the application of a particular substance in space, Spock allowed himself to fade out of the discussion and turn his attention elsewhere.

The uneasy feeling that had disturbed his meditation the night before was still lingering, even growing slightly in its intensity despite Spock's attempts to block it from his mind. Almost absentmindedly, Spock picked up his glass and raised it to his lips. He took a small sip, and his mind registered it as the same one that had been served to them the night before. He had partaken of very little of the drink then, and as he sipped it now he found it unpleasant.

"May I serve you more juumsar, Commander Spock?" Eson's voice cut through Spock's thoughts, and he nodded to the Reskarian and moved to set his glass down. As he did so, however, their two hands collided, and Spock felt a sudden burst of emotion.

Fear. Fear and regret.

The contact was broken almost the second it was established, and the Reskarian continued on, placing a spoonful of an orange fruit on Spock's plate. Evidently, Eson was unaware that Spock had intruded on his mind. In another situation, Spock would have told the man of the incident and apologized immediately, but he knew that the action would likely be considered as a provocation, regardless of its unintentional nature, and the Federation could not afford for the negotiations to go poorly, so Spock refrained. His sense of unease, however, grew. He had observed nothing that would cause the Reskarian to feel those emotions, and although the contact had been brief, Spock had received the distinct impression that the emotions were aimed toward he and his captain.

For the rest of the meal, Spock barely touched his food and stayed quiet, speaking only when he was spoken to and trusting his captain to fulfill the need for conversation while his own mind worked to decode the situation. A few times, the captain shot him a glance, but each time he deflected the concern with a subtle shake of his head. He was not certain what, if anything, was wrong, and if he spoke now in error he could jeopardize their mission.

Just as he felt he was nearing an answer, the door behind him opened, and he turned to see another Reskarian in the robes of a servant step in. He strode quickly to Teanar's side and leaned down, whispering something in the councilor's ear too softly for even Spock's hearing to make out. Evidently, whatever had been said was what the councilor had wanted to hear, for the Reskarian smiled, a large grin that exposed his black teeth, a rare expression for Reskarians, who very rarely communicated their thoughts and emotions through expressions or body language except in formal situations.

Teanar waved the servant away before turning back to Spock and the captain. "I have excellent news, honored sirs," the Reskarian exclaimed with far more enthusiasm in his voice than had been there before. "The signing room is prepared, and all is ready. Today shall be a momentous day for the future of Reskar!" He stood from his seat, and Spock and the captain followed suit.

"It will be a momentous day for the Federation as well," the captain said, an easy smile on his face that did not match the feeling that was churning in Spock's gut. "We are honored to be a part of it."

Teanar smiled again. "Please, allow me to guide you to the signing room. Enso, make sure that the rest of the day's activities are proceeding as planned."

Spock followed behind his captain as the left the room, silently deliberating. Should he inform his captain of his apprehension, illogical though it was? The man had often acted on his own 'gut feelings' and would likely listen to Spock if he were to share his concerns. However, he himself had not done so with any frequency and thus did not have sufficient data to conclusively prove that this 'feeling' was of any value. He was also having difficulty putting the feeling into words, which meant that he likely would not be able to communicate it to his captain successfully. He could try to convey his thoughts via a brief mind-meld, but he would have to do so without alerting the captain to it first in order to not arouse suspicion, so he quickly discarded that option. He would not invade his captain's privacy over an uneasy feeling that he himself was not certain of. He would stay silent, he finally decided. If there was, in fact, something wrong, his captain was likely able to tell, and thus communicating the idea to him at all was pointless.

As Spock reached his decision, they came to a stop in front of a set of double doors carved from the 'skygift' material. Teanar knocked on one of the doors and waited for twelve seconds before pulling them both open in a single movement and striding inside. Instinctively, both Spock and his captain followed before the scene in front of them had time to register. Then the doors snapped shut behind them, and the sight before them sunk in.

They were looking at a massacre. The instant that fact became apparent, Spock jumped forward, placing himself between his captain and the horrible scene that decorated the room. The white-stone walls of the room were splattered with blue blood. The table in the center of the room, carved from skygift, was drenched in the substance, and four bodies sat slumped in high chairs, their throats violently slit, one of whom Spock recognized as the High Councilor. Sixteen other bodies were scattered throughout the room, all with their throats gaping open.

"What happened here?" Spock heard his captain ask, the man's voice little more than a whisper. Spock looked to the councilor for an answer, expecting to find the Reskarian staring at the sight before them in some form of shock, but when Teanar turned to them, the same grin that had appeared earlier was on his face, feral and savage.

"Justice happened, Captain Kirk. Orolon was weak for considering such an alignment with your United Federation, and he has paid the price," the councilor sneered. "He believed himself to be untouchable, especially within his own house. However, he underestimated the extensiveness of my organization. And now, I will rule as High Councilor. Of course, I will need your assistance to do so."

Spock glanced behind him at his captain and saw rage written clearly in his features. "What makes you think that I would help you?" he asked, stepping around Spock and toward the Reskarian. Spock reached out to halt his movements, but the captain's powerful gaze caused him to drop his arm to his side an instant later. "I am the captain of the USS Enterprise, a Federation Starship. That means that I have sworn an oath to protect and uphold the Federation and all it stands for. I will not break that oath. Not for you or anyone else."

Teanar began to laugh at that, a deep sound that seemed to reverberate painfully in Spock's ears. This time, even his captain's stern gaze could not keep him from placing himself between his captain and the Reskarian. "Oh captain, there is so much that you shall learn. Let this be your first lesson," the man snapped his fingers, and the doors behind them flew open. Spock spun around, ready for a fight, but even as he raised his hands to defend himself he knew it was hopeless. Eight Reskarians dressed in the uniforms of guards stepped through, each armed with a handheld weapon that Spock couldn't identify. "I always get what I want."

Spock saw his captain glance behind him, saw the way his eyes widened almost imperceptibly, saw the subtle gesture for Spock to stand down, saw him square his shoulders, saw him open his mouth to speak. As always, Spock obeyed, lowering his arms to his side and stepping away from the councilor, despite the fact that his instincts screamed for him to attack.

"And what exactly is it that you want, Teanar?" the captain asked, taking another small step forward. "What do you think I can do for you that you can't do for yourself?"

Another laugh rumbled up from Teanar's throat. "You will see, Captain," was the only reply. Then, the councilor snapped his fingers again, and the Reskarians fired their handheld weapons. Spock barely had time to register the energy racing toward him, and then the first beam hit him and his vision went dark.

A/N: What do you think? Did you see something like this coming? I would love to hear from you guys!


	5. New Accommodations

Cold. That was the first thing that Jim felt as he woke. He was lying somewhere cold and hard. The second thing his senses became aware of was the darkness. Although his eyes were open, they were met only with pitch black. The third thing was the steady sound of breathing, in and out, nearby. Once his mind registered that, Jim flashed to full alertness.

The last thing that he remembered was Teanar threatening him, telling him that he would learn a lesson soon. Then, nothing. But it was obvious that he was somewhere else now, and he could only hope that the steady breathing he heard belonged to Spock. He had ordered his first officer to stand down with a subtle wave, he remembered that, but he couldn't remember if the Vulcan had obeyed.

A sudden need to find Spock, to make sure for himself that he was still alive, seized Jim, and he crawled in the direction he thought the sound was coming from. After a few moments, his hands hit something warm and solid, and the breathing pattern was disrupted.

"Spock?" Jim whispered into the darkness. "Are you okay?"

The warmth under his hand shifted and he heard shuffling sounds for a few moments. "I am uninjured, Captain." Jim let out a sigh of relief at the familiar sound of his first officer's voice. The Vulcan would likely point out that it was illogical to feel safe considering their circumstances, and yet that was exactly the feeling that warmed Jim's chest as he heard his friend speak. "It seems that we have been betrayed by the Reskarians."

Jim nodded before realizing that if he couldn't see Spock, Spock probably couldn't see him. "Yes. It seems that the insurgent group was much larger than Orolon had realized." He grinned, but there was no humor in the expression.

After his statement, there was silence for several long moments, and Jim grew worried. Was Spock injured? He had said that he was fine, but the Vulcan had exaggerated his own wellbeing in the past in order to assuage Jim's fears. "Spock? Are you sure you're alright?" Jim asked. Although he couldn't see him, he could feel Spock was sitting less than a foot away, and so he reached out slowly until his hand met solid mass covered in a soft fabric, the Vulcan's shoulder. He squeezed the shoulder gently and repeated his question when there was no immediate response.

Finally, he felt Spock straighten, and even without seeing him Jim knew that the Vulcan was sitting in a position as near to attention as he could get. Jim let the hand fall from his shoulder as Spock began to speak.

"I must apologize, Captain," he said, his voice empty of emotion. Someone else might have argued that Spock's voice was always empty of emotion, but Jim knew better. This was an artificial emptiness, the kind that Spock always seemed to adopt whenever he felt guilty or ashamed. "I suspected that there was something wrong, but I refrained from alerting you. If I had, it is likely we would not be in this present situation."

"No," the word was out of Jim's mouth almost before Spock had finished speaking. "No, Spock. This is not your fault. Or did you forget that I was suspicious too after Uhura suddenly got sick? I could have had Scotty beam us all off this planet, but I chose to stay."

"It was your duty to fulfill the mission, Captain. My duty is to ascertain the risk and inform you of it, which I failed to do."

Jim wanted to reach out to Spock again, but he refrained, knowing that the Vulcan didn't really like to be touched and only tolerated Jim's breaches of etiquette because they were friends. Instead, he countered Spock by saying, "But it is also my duty to make sure that the risk to my crew is minimized. I shouldn't have accepted a mission on a planet that had only been visited by a handful of Federation representatives, especially without any of them present."

"Captain, I—"

"But I did," Jim pressed on, cutting off whatever guilt-laden protest Spock had been about to make. "I did and we're here. We can't change the past, Spock, so it doesn't really matter whose fault our current situation is. Once we're safely back on the Enterprise, I'll argue with you about it all you want, but for now, the discussion of blame is over." Jim said the last bit in his best captain's voice, trying to smother the panic that was beginning to rise as the reality of their situation sunk in.

A beat, and then, "Very well, Captain."

Spock's acceptance made Jim smile slightly, but the expression quickly faded. "Where do you think we are?" he asked, turning his head to look at their surroundings. It was all darkness. He could almost sense some solid substance a few feet away on every side, like walls, but he couldn't see anything.

"I do not know, but I believe that we are likely being held in a prison of some sort. It is also quite probable that we are underground, considering the Reskarians' reverence for heights," Spock replied after a few seconds.

Underground. The thought of being an unknown distance beneath the surface caused Jim's chest to tighten, but he pushed the feeling away. It wasn't as if he hadn't been in similar situations before. "How long do you think we were unconscious?"

This time, Spock's reply was slower in coming. Eventually, he said, "I cannot accurately determine how much time has passed, Captain, but I believe that it has been between four and six hours."

That meant that it was nearing lunchtime. As if summoned by the thought, Jim's stomach growled loudly, reminding him that as delicious as the Reskarian food had been, the fruits and vegetables had been nowhere near as filling as his typical diet. However, the lapse of time also meant that the Enterprise crew was likely beginning to get worried.

"While it is true that more time has passed than the signing was anticipated to take," Spock said when Jim voiced his thoughts to his First Officer, "it is very possible that the crew will assume we are lingering on the planet for a celebration of some kind, as it is Reskarian custom to treat guests quite lavishly."

Jim barked out a laugh at that. "If this is lavish, I'd hate to see their idea of subpar treatment."

He could practically hear Spock arch an eyebrow at the comment. "I believe that this instance is an outlier in their traditional treatment of visitors."

"So you're telling me that it wouldn't be factored into the overall calculation of their treatment." Jim grinned, allowing the banter to distract him from the dread building in his gut. "It would skew the data."

"Indeed it would. If such a study were conducted." There was almost a smile in the words, but it was small and shadowed by the reality of their situation.

They lapsed into silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts. Or at least, Jim was lost in his own thoughts; Spock was likely meditating or planning their escape the way Jim should be doing. But he found that he couldn't. Every time his mind turned to their situation, their position possibly hundreds of meters below the ground, his chest tightened and he had trouble drawing in a breath. He tried to push those thoughts to the back of his mind and instead focus on the logic and the possibilities, but the panic refused to budge. Instead, it began to build in his mind until the pressure of hundreds of tons of rock was all he could feel, pressing down on him, pushing the air from his lungs and preventing him from drawing any more in. It was going to suffocate him. He would die here, trapped under the surface. He would never see the stars again. He would never see the Enterprise again. He would never hear the sound of his crew's voices again. He would never sit in his quarters and play chess with Spock again. He would never—

The feeling of Spock placing a hand on his forearm broke through the panic. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he focused on the feeling of Spock's fingers pressing into the fabric of his sleeve, the warmth of the Vulcan's hand seeping through the material to be absorbed by Jim's skin. Slowly, the panic receded, and he could breathe again.

Once his breathing returned to normal, Jim smiled into the darkness. He knew Spock couldn't see the expression, but it made him feel stronger, even if that strength was a just an act. Bones had once joked that he could walk through Hell itself if he kept a smile on his face, and Jim needed some of that strength now.

"I'm alright, Spock," he said, expecting the man to draw away, but his hand didn't move. Instead, it tightened slightly on his shoulder. "Really, I'm okay. I just got lost in my own head for a little while." Still, the Vulcan didn't move. Jim was about to ask if he was alright when he heard a noise a few feet in front of them—the sound of metal scraping against metal.

An instant later, a door opened, and light flooded the room, causing Jim to let out an involuntary hiss as his hands scrambled up his face to shield his sensitive eyes. Before they could adjust, he heard the sound of several pairs of booted feet on the stone, and then he was being hauled roughly to his feet, two guards gripping his arms hard enough to leave a bruise. He heard Spock jump to his feet, but he waved one hand as best he could in a gesture he hoped the Vulcan understood. They were too disoriented to be successful in an escape attempt now.

"Move, human!" one of the guards grunted, yanking Jim forward and forcing him to walk. For a moment, he stumbled blindly, but then his eyes adjusted to the light and he took in his captors. There were six Reskarian guards, three in the cell with him and Spock and three more outside it. The three outside had handheld devices pointed at Spock, the same kind that had been used on them earlier.

Locking eyes with Spock, Jim silently urged him to stand down and let the Reskarians take him. It was doubtful that they would kill him—Teanar had mentioned needing his help securing his reign as High Councilor. No, it was better for them to figure out what exactly was going on before they acted. Thankfully, Spock seemed to understand the message. Anger flashed in his eyes, but he nodded slightly and assumed parade rest, keeping his eyes trained on Jim and carefully avoiding the gazes of the guards.

"I said, move!" Jim felt the guard behind him shove him forward, and he would have fallen if not for the brutal grip of the Reskarians at his side. Glancing over Spock one last time—he looked mostly unharmed, thank the stars—Jim walked slowly out of the cell, careful to appear as meek as possible. He didn't think that these men would kill him, but he wasn't going to take any chances, not when Spock's life was on the line as well.

The walked through stone tunnels for several minutes, Jim being slammed in the back every time he slowed down at all. As they walked, Jim realized that the stone beneath his feet was sloping upward, and he felt some of the panic that had settled in his chest since leaving Spock's side dissipate. Eventually, they reached a door, and one of the Reskarians knocked, waited twelve seconds, and then opened the door, shoving Jim through. He stumbled, and the Reskarians holding him let go. The sudden change caused him to overcompensate, and he crumpled to the ground. Before he could stand on his own, two of the Reskarians pulled him to his feet.

"Ah, Captain Kirk. I hope you have not found your new accommodations too uncomfortable." Teanar smiled his not-smile from where he sat behind a plain desk. Jim didn't respond. Instead, he searched the room for anything that could give him an advantage only for his stomach to sink as he found nothing in the bare and windowless room. Its only furniture was the table, two chairs, an old-fashioned scroll, and a pen. It wasn't hard for him to guess why he was here.

"What do you want from me, Teanar?" he asked, very carefully keeping his voice level. This was the man with the power. If he could stay in Teanar's good graces, he might be able to find a way to get both him and Spock out of here alive.

"I think you know, Captain. Please, sit."

Before Jim could decide whether or not to acquiesce, he was forced roughly into the chair. He glared up at the men holding his arms for a brief instant before turning to Teanar. The man was leaning back in his chair like it was a throne, a smirk playing on his lips. Clearly, he was enjoying the power of his new title.

"You are going to sign a trade agreement with Reskar, just as you intended to, Captain Kirk. However, instead of allowing Reskar to trade freely with the Federation in return for Federation protection, you are going to agree to allow Reskar to trade with both the Federation and the Klingon Empire, and you are going to agree to protect Reskar. In fact, Reskar is to have at least three Federation vessels guarding it at all times."

Despite his earlier decision to stay on Teanar's good side, Jim couldn't help the laugh that burst from him. He had to take several deep breaths to stifle the laughter, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. "You're joking, right?" Jim shook his head, another chuckle escaping him. "Only the core planets of the Federation have a standing force around the planet! Even then Starfleet can order the ships to leave the planet if they need to."

Teanar did not look amused. "I promise you that I am entirely serious, Captain Kirk. You will sign this agreement, and it will be honored by the Federation."

Privately, Jim doubted that. Even if he did sign the agreement, it was very likely that the Federation would completely disregard it. They would argue that Jim was either insane or under duress during the signing and therefore unfit for duty, which would make his signature void. He decided not to tell Teanar that.

"I won't sign this," Jim stated, sitting up tall in his chair, ignoring the pressure on his arms. "It violates my oath as a Starfleet Captain."

The Reskarian's eyes narrowed and he bared his black teeth in a snarl. "I wouldn't refuse too quickly, Captain. I haven't told you the stakes yet."

Cold seeped into Jim's chest, a cold that had nothing to do with the chilly stone around him. He knew that both his and Spock's lives would likely be forfeit if he refused, but he also knew that Spock would never forgive him if he signed an agreement like this for his sake.

"I don't care about your terms, Teanar," Jim said, injecting confidence into his voice that he didn't feel. "I won't sign it."

"Are you sure about that, Captain? I have heard that Starfleet captains place great value on their crew. Does that hold true for you?" The grin on his face could only be described as predatory.

Jim ignored the ice in his chest. "Reskar doesn't have the ability to threaten the Enterprise," he said, and this time, his confidence wasn't entirely fake. He was fairly certain that Reskar didn't have the technology to affect the Enterprise's orbit around the planet, and the shields would be able to withstand a heavy battery if Teanar decided to fire any missiles at the ship.

"Who said anything about the Enterprise, Captain?" the man chuckled darkly, and the two Reskarians tightened their grips on his arms. "Besides, even if you don't value your crew, I am sure that you value your ability to captain a starship. I wonder how long your mind can hold up? How broken can you be and still be called the captain?"

It took every ounce of restraint in Jim's body to not lash out at the Reskarian in front of him. Threatening both his crew and his captaincy was dangerous. If he had been alone, he likely would have attacked Teanar regardless of the consequences. The man had admitted he needed him alive in order to sign the agreement, so the punishment for lashing out wouldn't have been death. But he wasn't alone. Spock was here with him, and any wrong step on his part would likely be paid for by the Vulcan.

Taking a deep breath, Jim steeled his expression into something resembling calmness. It was a poor mask and he knew it, but it was the best that he could do in the situation. "And if I did sign this," he said, gesturing to the scroll in front of him, his hand hovering over the pen. "what would happen to me and my crew? You have to know that Starfleet doesn't forgive the kidnapping of a captain and his first officer easily."

Teanar's smile was oily, and Jim wondered how he had ever trusted this man in the first place. He had been a fool, plain and simple. "Well, captain, Starfleet would be much more likely to comply with our demands if we had a valuable hostage. If you sign this document, you will be kept under what I believe you would call 'house arrest'. Your accommodations would rival even mine in their splendor."

Great. He would become a pampered pet. Not that he was planning on signing the agreement, of course. And he doubted that Spock would be treated as nicely. "And what about my first officer? Would he be allowed to return to the Enterprise if I were to sign this?"

"Of course." The smooth reply came far too quickly for Jim to trust.

For several long moments, Jim looked the man over, resigning himself to the consequences of what he was about to do. Then, he grinned cockily, shoving down his panic, insecurity, and guilt. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p'. "Sorry, Teanar. I can't sign it." He tried to lean back in his chair, but the Reskarians holding his arms kept him rigidly in place. Still, he smirked at Teanar, daring the man to object.

In an instant, the grin fell from the Reskarian's face, replaced by a feral sneer. "I warned you, Captain Kirk. I always get my way." Then, Jim felt something connect with the back of his skull in a sharp flash of pain, and the world went dark for the second time that day.

. . .

A/N: What did you think? Our boys are really in trouble now! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts and impressions!


	6. In the Darkness

A/N Here's another chapter for you! It's kinda long, but I hope you guys like it!

. . .

Footsteps in the hallway outside of his cell drew Spock from his mind. He had been attempting to meditate, but with his captain gone and Spock unable to reach him, peace had eluded his mind. As the footsteps drew nearer, Spock stood, settling into parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back. He would face his captors with the dignity of a Vulcan.

The door opened to reveal two Reskarian guards holding his captain between them. The man's head was slumped forward, and his only movement was the rise and fall of his chest as he took shallow breaths. Spock took a step forward just as the Reskarians release the captain, causing the man to pitch forward into Spock's arms. Before Spock could demand to know what had been done to his captain, the Reskarians left the cell and the door swung shut, leaving them in total darkness once again.

Gently, Spock shifted the captain in his arms. Sitting carefully with his back against one of the walls—he had paced the room while his captain had been gone and discovered that it was 3.521 meters on each side—he angled his body so that his captain was leaning against his chest for support instead of the cold stone around them. The captain shivered in his sleep, and after a brief moment of hesitation, Spock wrapped one arm around his chest, holding him in place and providing him additional warmth.

"Captain?" His voice was quiet in the darkness. The man in his arms didn't answer, but Spock hadn't truly expected him to. His breathing was beginning to grow more regular, and although his heartbeat was weak, it was steady. Whatever had been done to his captain had not been serious, which Spock was grateful for. That didn't change the fact that something had been done, however, in the 49.3 minutes that the man had been gone.

If Spock has been human, he might have sighed as he readjusted his grip on his captain. The two of them had been in situations like this one before, and it seemed that the captain managed to anger the wrong people every time. Teanar had likely attempted to coerce the captain into doing something, and the man had obviously refused, as he always did. James T. Kirk was not one to worry about his safety when it compromised his principles or oaths.

For several minutes, Spock simply sat in the darkness, doing his best to keep his mind under control, pushing down the emotions that welled up within him every time he looked down at his unconscious captain. Logically, he knew that the man had been faced with similar demands before and made it out intact, but Spock couldn't shake the feeling that for some reason this time was different.

He wasn't the kind of person to trust a 'gut feeling'—his captain wouldn't be in this situation if he were—but this was different. It settled on his mind like frost, covering all his thoughts in a layer of uncertain worry. It was different from the apprehension he had felt previously, however. Somehow, this was a darker feeling, something more akin to dread.

He was pulled from his tangled thoughts by a soft groan from his captain, and Spock was instantly alert. The sound was repeated, and the man's eyelids began to flutter as he fought his way back to consciousness. Carefully, Spock maneuvered his captain so that he was sitting up under his own power. His back was against the wall, and although his head still sagged forward, Spock figured the captain would prefer that position to his previous one. Spock kept one hand on his captain's forearm, however, as physical proof to the both of them that the other was there despite the darkness. Illogical, but necessary nonetheless in a way that he couldn't quite put into words. Although if anyone were to ask him about it, he would say that it was purely for the captain's benefit.

Another groan and then, "Spock?"

"I am here, Captain," Spock responded readily, applying light pressure to the man's arm.

Spock heard him shift against the wall and felt his arm raise. Spock dropped his hand then, but he didn't pull it back completely. "Teanar tried to get me to sign some ridiculous agreement that would allow Reskar to trade with the Klingons while still receiving Federation protection," the captain said after a moment. "He wanted three ships at all times! Can you believe that?" The man chuckled, but the sound broke off into a groan of pain, and Spock's hand shot forward once more.

"Are you alright, Captain?" he asked, his hand hovering an inch above where he knew his captain's arm to be. "The darkness has prevented me from being able to examine you fully."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Spock. One of those guards hit me on the head to knock me out instead of using their devices, that's all," he said, and Spock could picture the easy grin on the man's face. The one that hid his pain and anger from all but those who knew him best. "Besides, it could have been a lot worse."

"If High Councilor Teanar is truly determined to see this agreement struck, it may become that way soon, Captain," Spock pointed out, his voice grave. He knew as well as his captain did that once they were captured there was little to no chance of the Reskarians releasing them. Even planets this far from the core of the Federation knew the penalty for illegally holding and mistreating a Starfleet officer.

The captain let out a heavy sigh, and Spock knew that he had slumped against the wall of the cell. "Teanar mentioned torture," he said quietly after a few moments. Spock wasn't surprised. It seemed that most people considered pain to be the most effective way to get another being to comply with their demands. "I'll try and keep them focused on me, of course, but—"

"Captain, do not put yourself at greater risk for my sake," Spock interjected, reaching out to grip the man's arm again as fear made itself known in his mind. He couldn't allow his captain to be harmed. "Vulcans can withstand a much higher level of abuse than humans. It is only logical that I—"

"Logical?" the captain interrupted. "Don't tell me any of this is logical, Spock! How am I supposed to use logic to justify getting you tortured? I'm the captain; it's my job to protect my crew, and that includes you!" Jim's voice rose, and for once, Spock was grateful for the darkness that shielded him from his captain's gaze.

"And as your first officer, my job is to keep you out of harm's way whenever possible," he countered. "If that means undergoing the abuse of our captors in your place, I accept that duty." He was only too happy to. Although the argument he made was logical, the emotions behind it were anything but, and he didn't have the time or desire to unravel them. Even if he hadn't been the first officer, he would be happy to suffer in Jim's—in his captain's—place.

"I can't ask that of you, Spock." His captain's hand found his, and he gripped his wrist tightly. This time, the darkness did little to protect Spock. He could feel his captain's determined gaze on him, and his mind all too easily summoned the memory of those intense eyes boring into his. "I won't."

The very corner of Spock's mouth turned up slightly. "You do not have to."

Their gazes stayed locked in the darkness for a beat longer, then the captain let go of Spock's wrist, and Spock felt him settle against the stone once more. "We always seem to come back to this argument, don't we?" There was a quiet chuckle, this one uninterrupted by any sounds of pain. "Bones is right to be worried whenever he leaves us alone. Combined, we have the self-preservation instincts of a drunken squirrel."

Spock arched an eyebrow. "I fail to see what an intoxicated rodent has to do with our situation, Captain," he said. The captain only snorted in reply, as he had know the Vulcan long enough to know that he understood far more of Earth's peculiar phrases than he let on. A companionable silence fell then, and Spock allowed his mind to slow, comforted in the knowledge that his captain was safe for the moment, despite their present circumstances.

Another 12.54 minutes passed before Spock heard his captain's breathing grow slow and steady once again, a sign that the man had fallen asleep. 2.41 minutes later, the man's head shifted to the side and collided with Spock's shoulder. As soon as it made contact, he jolted awake for an instant, just long enough to murmur an apology, which caused Spock's lips to turn up by a fraction. Then, the man was asleep once more. The next time the captain's head hit Spock's shoulder, he remained asleep, and Spock simply adjusted his body so that the man would be more comfortable as he rested. He would need all the sleep that he could get if they were to attempt to figure their way out of this.

. . .

Jim woke to darkness. He blinked several times, waiting for light to come before the memory of what had happened washed over him and he realized that there would be no light. Teanar had murdered High Councilor Orolon, taken him and Spock prisoner, and then demanded that he sign a ridiculous trade agreement that would leave Reskar free to take advantage of the Federation while trading with the Klingons as well. He groaned aloud at that, which caused the surface he had been resting on to shift. Until then, Jim hadn't registered that he was leaning on something warm rather than cold stone.

"Captain? Are you well?" Spock's deep voice rumbled from a position near Jim's ear, causing the man to flinch back, his head nearly colliding with his first officer's. He couldn't see Spock's face, but he could imagine the carefully blank look that the Vulcan got whenever Jim invaded his personal space, which he had most definitely done. How long had he been asleep on Spock's shoulder?

As if the Vulcan could hear his thoughts, he said, "You have been asleep for 3.27 hours."

Jim grimaced. Why had Spock let him violate his space like that for so long? Did he think that he couldn't reprimand Jim because of his position as captain? Jim figured that Spock knew he would never abuse his position like that, but why else would he have allowed it?

"Sorry about that, Spock," he said, and although he wasn't able to see Spock's eyes, he tried to find them in the dark and somehow convey his regret. "I didn't mean to invade your personal space like that."

"There is no need to apologize, Captain." The tone was dismissive, but not in a hostile way, as if Spock truly didn't care about Jim's massive breach of etiquette. Jim wanted to apologize further, but he figured that if Spock was willing to drop the subject, he should accept his forgiveness instead of question it. Still, he shifted until there was about a foot of space between them before he asked,

"Did anything happen while I was asleep?" Before Spock could say anything, Jim heard the sound of footsteps outside of their cell. He had an instant to square his shoulders, and then the door swung open to reveal a Reskarian guard. Hope shot through Jim before being instantly smothered by the sight of the device the Reskarian was pointing at him with one hand, the other hand holding a small platter. With the Reskarians holding those weapons, he and Spock's chance of escape was practically zero.

"High Councilor Teanar has ordered that you eat," the Reskarian said. Jim stood and moved toward the Reskarian to retrieve the food, but he stopped when the man raised the device in his hand, finger hovering just above the trigger. "Not another step, human," he warned, and Jim raised his hands slowly.

"There's no need for violence," he said, forcing a calm smile onto his face as he took another step forward.

"If you take one more step, I will be forced to ensure that you can not do so again." The phaser-like weapon was now only a foot from Jim's chest. He stopped. "Eat. You will not have the chance to do so again for some time." With those words, the man tossed the plater to the ground, sending the bread and fruit scattering across the cell. Before Jim could react, the guard stepped back and closed the door, plunging them into darkness once more.

. . .

It took them nearly eight minutes to locate all of the food. A quarter of an hour later, Jim still hadn't been able to eat any of it.

"I do not detect any intentional poison or chemical composition that would prove harmful to us, Captain," Spock reported after several minutes of examining the food piece by piece. Jim's stomach rumbled slightly at the news. As much as he hated the idea of looking weak to his captors, his body demanded food. It had been over ten hours since he had last eaten, and the food here on Reskar was lacking the substance of his usual meals.

"Then let's split it and eat. I believed that Reskarian when he told us that it would be some time before we were fed again." Starvation was a common—and frequently effective—method of torture. Although the human body could go weeks without food, it was far from comfortable, and many people gave in to their captor's demands long before that point. Jim hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

"There is a possibility that my assessment is incorrect. It would be wise to allow me to sample the food first and then observe my reaction for a period of time before you yourself eat," the Vulcan suggested in a tone that implied his words were both logical and obvious. And maybe they were. That didn't stop Jim from disagreeing, however.

"Even if I did let you try it first, how can we know that the reaction you have will be the same one that I would have? And how long would we wait? Uhura's illness didn't happen until hours after dinner. By that time, the Reskarians will have likely come up with something else to torture us with," Jim argued, seeking Spock's eyes in the darkness.

The shadows that Jim had come to identify as Spock shifted slightly and Jim knew the Vulcan was now sitting up straight with his hands behind his back. "Your arguments are valid, Captain. Nevertheless, I believe that I should still sample the food in case of any immediate ill effects."

Jim couldn't help the small smile that found its way onto his face. Even imprisoned the Vulcan was stubborn, a trait that Jim was secretly quite grateful for. "Very well, Mr. Spock. I will wait for another ten minutes. After that, I'm eating this fruit like it's my last meal." He grinned into the darkness and chose to ignore the weight that settled on his chest as he realized just how accurate his words could prove to be.

"Very well." Spock shifted in the darkness once again, and a few seconds later Jim heard the Vulcan bite into the flesh of one of the fruits that had been tossed to them. He waited for a few moments, and when nothing immediately horrible happened, he spoke.

"What do you think the Enterprise is doing now, Spock?" He tried to keep his tone casual, but his heart clenched as he spoke. It was a very real possibility that he would never see his ship again, and that knowledge terrified him.

"The crew is no doubt beginning to wonder where we are. We were due to rendezvous with the ship ten hours and seventeen minutes ago. I estimate that Mr. Scott will wait another three hours before attempting to contact us if he has not done so already, unless Doctor McCoy is able to convince him to contact us sooner. He can be quite persuasive when he wishes to be."

Jim chuckled at the accurate description of his long-time friend. "That he can be, Spock. This would all be a lot simpler if we had been allowed to communicate with the ship more frequently. They would know by now that something was wrong and locked onto our signals."

"I do not believe they would be able to, even if we had our communicators with us," Spock disagreed, and Jim could almost hear him tilt his head in thought. "We are several hundred meters below the surface of the planet, and our sensors have difficulty probing to this depth with much accuracy. It is just as likely that they would beam up several Riskarians instead of us, or accidentally leave one of us behind."

Jim sighed. "Well, whatever they're doing, I hope they're careful. I don't want the Reskarians conning any more of my men onto this planet."

"Indeed, Captain."

Jim fell silent, his thoughts on the Enterprise and her crew. Part of him hoped that they were looking for him and Spock, but the rest of him hoped that they were preparing to leave orbit and get as far away from this planet as possible. He no longer trusted the information they had received about Reskar's technological capabilities, and he wanted the Enterprise out of harm's way.

Eventually, the ten minutes passed without any obvious ill effects on Spock, and Jim took a bite of the fruit they had been given. The sweet juice dribbled down his chin as he chewed, but he found that he didn't care. He had been delicate enough during the dinner and lunch with the Reskarians earlier, and that hadn't gotten him anywhere, so what was the point in it now? In another fifteen minutes, he and Spock finished the rest of the food that they had been given.

Once he was done eating, Jim leaned back against one of the stone walls of their cell. He had tried standing earlier, but he found the darkness to be somehow more intimidating when he did so and had quickly sat back down. The walls and floor were cold, but so far the temperature hadn't been severe enough to warrant too much discomfort on his part. Right now, the temperature helped focus his mind as he thought about what he knew was going to happen soon.

They would be tortured. Jim knew that just as surely as he knew Spock's blood was green. He also knew that he would do whatever he could to make sure that Teanar and his men remained focused on him instead of Spock. It shouldn't be hard to do; he seemed to have a knack for irritating the new High Councilor. All he had to do was keep the attention on him, make sure that—

Spock's hand on his shoulder interrupted his train of thought. "Captain, there are six Reskarians approaching our cell," he reported in a low tone. "I cannot distinctly make out their voices, but I believe one of them to be High Councilor Teanar." By the time Spock finished speaking, Jim was able to hear the sound of distant footfalls steadily approaching.

"Let me do the talking, Spock," Jim ordered. "I might be able to convince Teanar that releasing us will put him in the Federation's good graces." Inwardly, he doubted that he would have much, if any, success. Teanar had made up his mind on what he would do with them, Jim had seen that when he had met with the man earlier. All Jim truly hoped to accomplish was keeping the Reskarians' attention on him.

"Very well, Captain."

The footsteps grew louder, and Jim stood, crossing his arms in front of his chest. A moment later, the door swung open, flooding the room with harsh light. Then three of the Reskarians stepped into the room.

"High Councilor Teanar, how kind of you to visit our humble abode," Jim said, just barely managing to keep his voice neutral. The Reskarian grinned, and dread flooded Jim. That wasn't the expression of a man willing to listen to reason, it was the expression of a predator who had just found his next meal.

"Captain, I hope you are well-rested," the man said, his black teeth still showing between blue lips. "We have much to discuss."

Alarm bells were going off in Jim's skull now, but he put them on mute, shoving the apprehension to the back of his mind before saying, "I agree High Councilor."

The Reskarian chuckled. "I bet you do. Follow me, Captain." As he spoke, Teanar waved a hand and the two guards at his side stepped forward. "Gryss and Ishka will stay here with your First Officer."

The alarm bells in Jim's mind broke free and began to ring again. Looking over the two guards, Jim knew they were more than capable of hurting Spock if they wanted to. The Vulcan was much stronger than a human, but he was outnumbered and outgunned; both of the Reskarians had those phaser things in their hands. If Jim left them here with Spock, there was no guarantee that the Vulcan would be safe.

"I've seen examples of your hospitality before, High Councilor. What assurance do I have that my First Officer will remain unharmed?" Jim asked, shifting slightly so he stood more in front of Spock.

The Reskarian placed a hand over his heart—at least, that's where Jim thought his heart was—and nodded gravely, the smile smoothly falling from his face. "Indeed, Captain, it appalls me to think of the breach of etiquette that has occurred." Jim had to resist the urge to snort in pure disbelief. "Eson," Teanar called without turning around, "these accommodations must be improved. Fetch a light as well as bedding for our guests."

Jim heard a muffled, "Right away, High Councilor," and then the sound of footsteps leading swiftly away.

Teanar's smile returned as he addressed Jim again. "I swear to you that your First Officer will be in the same state he is in now when you return, Captain. Now, please follow me." The man turned away, leaving Jim frozen.

He didn't trust the Reskarian half as far as he could throw him, but he knew that Teanar's guards wouldn't hesitate to stun him if he refused. Still, the thought of leaving Spock here with them…

"Captain," Spock's deep voice drew Jim from his thoughts in an instant, and he turned to his First Officer. Jim knew his worry was written on his face—another one of those emotional human weaknesses—but when Spock's eyes found his, the Vulcan only tipped his head a few degrees. There was reassurance there, in the slight fractional upturn of his lips, and despite his misgivings Jim nodded slowly. He held Spock's gaze for a moment longer before turning away and following Teanar out of the cell.

This time, the guard that went with them didn't shove him in the back every few steps, which Jim appreciated. Instead, he was permitted to walk alongside Teanar, who soon began to talk as they wound their way through seemingly endless tunnels that sloped steadily downward.

"Reskar is entering a new age, Captain Kirk. With this trade agreement, we will finally be able to expand our influence and establish a foothold in the galaxy. No longer will we be a backwater on the fringes of the Federation. We will be a power of our own," the man stated, and although his hands were clasped behind him as he walked, his words were animated. Teanar truly believed the words that he was saying, and for once, Jim decided to keep his mouth shut as he continued.

"For decades, the High Councilors have been content to sit by and watch as events unfolded around us, but I will not fall victim to their same mistakes! They believed that our lack of technology put us too far behind, made us incapable of making a name for ourselves. But I know better. We have things that people want, and we can trade for them. We do not need a planet of geniuses; they will come to us."

Jim was beginning to think that Teanar was insane. The man really thought that he could trade with both the Federation and the Klingons without any negative repercussions. Did he not know what had happened to other planets that had been caught in the middle of their feud? Still, some of what he said made sense—in a backward kind of way.

"Can you imagine how much we can improve Reskar, Captain? The good that we can do?" Teanar was looking at him now, obviously expecting an answer.

Part of Jim wanted to tell the man the truth, tell him about the way the planet would likely be torn apart by the conflict between the Federation and the Klingons. Even if no weapons were fired, the damage would be extensive. Instead, he tilted his head and said slowly,

"The Federation knows very little about your planet, High Councilor. However, I believe Ambassador Silas would say that the Federation could bring many new scientific breakthroughs to your planet."

Teanar chuckled at the words, and Jim had to repress a shiver. "Indeed, Captain. Can you imagine the wonders that will come to Reskar within the next decade? It will be an age of revolution, of innovation. And it will have all been brought to pass by you. James T. Kirk, Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise."

As Teanar had been speaking, they had arrived at a simple metal door. With his last sentence, he pushed open the door, and the protest that had been forming in Jim's lips was choked back down.

"What is this, Teanar? More of your Reskarian hospitality?" he demanded, spinning to face the High Councilor, rage written across his face.

A charcoal grin spread across Teanar's face. "This, my dear Captain, is persuasion."

Before Jim could move, he was shoved roughly across the threshold and into the room. Even as he fell, he smiled in grim satisfaction. At least it wasn't Spock.

. . .

A/N Thanks for reading! A lot of you wonderful people have left me comments, which I greatly appreciate, and I wanted to say thank you. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter (even if I did start every other paragraph with 'and they woke to darkness').


	7. Reskarian Hospitality

A/N WARNING: This chapter contains torture. I don't believe it is very graphic, but you may want to skip it anyway.

The two Reskarians hovered near the door of the cell. Spock watched them for several minutes, eventually determining that they were going to uphold the High Councilor's earlier words; he would not be harmed while his captain was gone. The thought didn't provide him much comfort.

Twenty-one minutes and thirty-nine seconds after the captain left, Teanar's aide, Eson, reentered the room, followed by two other Reskarians, these dressed in the garb of servants rather than guards. The first held what appeared to be a portable version of the touch-lights that had been in the quarters he and his captain had been given the night before while the other held several bundles of cloth, likely blankets of some form. Spock repressed the shiver that threatened to overtake his body.

"First Officer," Eson nodded deeply, sweeping his arm out in the standard gesture of Reskarian respect. Spock raised an eyebrow at the motion but returned it nonetheless. It seemed that the aide did not have the same ideas as the High Councilor. "Your accommodations must seem a stark contrast to the quarters you stayed in previously. Please, accept these comforts as some small rectification of that."

For a moment, Spock stayed silent, surveying the Reskarian in front of him. While he was not very well versed on Reskarian physiology, Spock could tell that the man was young, likely only a few years into adulthood, and his eyes seemed earnest in his desire to help.

"I accept them with gratitude on behalf of my captain and myself," Spock finally responded, touching three fingers to his forehead.

The young Reskarian blushed at the gesture of respect—typically shown to one of a much higher rank than himself—and quickly ordered the servants behind him to deposit the light and blankets. Spock nodded his thanks to the servants, but they did not return his gaze, keeping their heads down as they finished their tasks and quickly left the room.

"Do you know what the High Councilor's intentions are toward my captain?" Spock asked once the servants had left.

Almost instantly, Eson began to fidget, his hands coming together in front of him, long fingers weaving and unweaving themselves repeatedly. "I do not," he said after a moment of hesitation. "And if I did, I would not be able to tell you."

Spock nodded. He had not truly expected an answer. "That is understandable."

The Reskarian nodded awkwardly and then moved to the door, but he stopped short of stepping across the threshold. "I will not question my High Councilor," he said, turning to look at Spock over his shoulder, "but I wish for the health and comfort of both you and your captain." The words came out in a rush, and the Reskarian's blue skin flushed darker, but he held Spock's gaze as the Vulcan nodded.

"Honor to you, Eson."

The Reskarian hesitated for a moment longer at the door before turning in a single sharp movement and striding out. Spock listened to the echo of his footsteps until they passed out of his hearing, then, he sat down on the cold stone floor and crossed his legs. Letting his eyes close but keeping the rest of his senses alert, he settled into a shallow meditation.

. . .

Jim struggled against the grip of the guard behind him, but the Reskarian was holding him too tightly for him to have any hope of escaping. Still, he pushed back against his captor even as he was forced into a chair and strapped down so tightly he could barely move his arms.

"I apologize for this treatment, Captain Kirk, but your stubborn behavior has made it necessary. I cannot allow this agreement to go unsigned, and as it appears that my words have little effect on you, I must try a different tactic," Teanar said in a sickeningly calm tone, as if he were explaining to a child why he had to punish them.

"Torture. That's the word you're looking for," Jim offered, keeping his tone nonchalant and his eyes fixed on Teanar. "I have to admit, I thought you would wait a little longer before trying to beat a signature out of me. It seems I overestimated your hospitality."

Teanar chuckled and shook his head. "I'm afraid I have had to be a bit hasty, Captain. However, this could all be avoided if you were to simply sign the document."

Instead of replying, Jim looked around the room as best as he could. It was obvious that the room had once been intended for a more benevolent purpose, an office perhaps, but now the room was adorned with torture devices of all kinds. Most of them looked to be almost medieval, while others appeared to utilize electricity in some way. All of them looked deadly. And on top of it all, there was a Reskarian standing a few meters away, flipping a wicked-looking knife in his hand and eyeing Jim in a way that made him feel like a pig being eyed by a butcher.

Then Jim looked back at Teanar. The Reskarian was grinning again, an expression that Jim was beginning to despise. His dark eyes were cold, and Jim knew that the man would have no qualms about standing there and listening to him scream as he was tortured if it meant getting the signature that he wanted.

"You know I won't do that, Teanar," and somehow, despite the damning nature of the words, they were easy to say. He wouldn't betray his oath as a captain.

"Are you sure you want to make that decision so quickly? I have heard tales of Klingon torture devices that can control people, extract what is wanted from their minds causing terrible pain but no physical damage. I'm afraid our methods are much more simplistic, and the damage could be quite severe."

"If that's the price for keeping your mad plan from working, I'll pay it," Jim replied, his tone final. "I will not sign that document."

"Very well, Captain." Teanar turned away, and Jim knew that he was now looking at the Reskarian who had been flipping the knife. "You may begin, Lok, but remember that I need him well enough to speak and to sign."

"Yes, High Councilor," Jim saw the Reskarian bow out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned toward Jim his eyes glinted with a sadism that made Jim wonder how many times he had done something like this for Teanar. Then his lips split into a grin, and Jim realized that the Reskarian had probably lost count.

"Would you like me to gag him, High Councilor?" the man asked as he moved out of Jim's line of sight again.

There was a smile in Teanar's face as he responded. "No, we are almost directly under the cell where his First Officer is waiting for him. The stone is thick, but perhaps you can make him scream loud enough. Vulcans are said to have exceptional hearing."

Fear had been building in Jim's gut, but now guilt and shame joined it, swirling together to make an unstable mixture that made him feel as if he were boiling from the inside out. He wanted to believe that he could hold out against whatever tortures were planned for him, but he knew that eventually, he would yell or scream. The thought of Spock hearing that, hearing his weakness and pain, made Jim want to puke all over Teanar's shiny black boots. He doubted that Spock would think less of him for it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it would be a sign of weakness. He couldn't protect himself, much less protect Spock. He couldn't—

Jim had been so focused on his inner thoughts that he hadn't noticed that his soon-to-be torturer had stepped up next to him again, and he couldn't suppress the gasp that released all of the air in his lungs when he felt a hot blade slice into his skin. He tried to flinch away from the knife, but his arm was strapped down too tightly. He wanted to yell, but it was as if his vocal cords were stunned. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut and closed his eyes, trying his best to shove the pain to the back of his mind.

"Are you paying attention now, Captain?" the Reskarian torturer hissed into his ear. "I wouldn't want to lose you so quickly."

Jim didn't reply except to open his eyes and glare at the man, hoping to put all of his hatred and anger into his gaze. The torturer tsked at him before turning away. Jim followed the movement with his eyes, and now that he was aware, he could see a glow coming from a slit in a covered box near the chair he had been strapped to. When the torturer turned back to him, he was holding another knife, it's blade white-hot.

Jim steeled himself against the pain, but he still had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming as the Reskarian grabbed his arm and slowly dragged the knife through the skin. It was as if Jim could feel every cell that the knife cut through, could feel individually as each one burned.

The process was repeated four more times, and by then Jim's mouth was full of blood from the bite marks on his tongue. The torturer didn't seem disturbed by his lack of sound, however, as he moved to the other side of the chair, no doubt prepared to repeat the process, again and again if it was necessary. Before he could start, however, Teanar spoke.

"Are you sure you don't want to sign the agreement, Captain? This is just a small taste of what is to come."

Jim didn't respond, looking the High Councilor in the eyes as blood trickled out from the corner of his mouth.

"Very well."

A few seconds later, searing pain burst to life in Jim's other arm. This time, the Reskarian slashed his arm in a swift movement, but as soon as the burning stopped, he pressed against Jim's wounded flesh, grinding his fingers against the cut, and Jim wasn't able to stop the pained groan that slipped from his lips.

"Does that hurt?" the Reskarian asked, laughing. "Good." Then he cut again, and this time, he didn't wait for the burning to stop. Jim could smell his flesh burning even as the man dug his gloved fingers into the cut, and the sensation was too much. He screwed his eyes closed and tried to get his mind to focus on something, anything, other than the pain in his arm, but it was just too much.

Then all of a sudden, the pressure was gone. Before Jim could get his hopes up, however, his torturer laughed and pressed back down with one hand, even as the other cut a new line in his flesh. Jim bit down on his tongue, and blood ran down his chin.

. . .

Spock couldn't meditate. He had tried to for the past two hours, but he had had very little success. Each time he began to slip into the peaceful state he sought, a thought or feeling would stab at his mind and disrupt the tranquility that he was fighting to achieve. He had tried to confront and dismiss these thoughts and feelings as he usually did when meditating, but he found that he was unable to. Instead, they began to collect and swirl in his mind until they were pressing on the walls of his inner-self, threatening to overwhelm him.

Where was his captain? What was his current condition? Was the Enterprise searching for them yet? How could they escape this place? What would he do if his captain died here? Those thoughts and a hundred like them pressed against his mind, making it impossible for him to find peace, and eventually, he gave up on the effort.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and focused on the guards that stood in the room with him. They hadn't moved even once during his meditation, which suggested a significant amount of training on their part. How long had Teanar been planning this, and how had he managed to raise such a considerable force without the previous High Councilor noticing?

There were too many questions that Spock had and far too few answers. As much as he tried to control his emotions—especially in situations like the one he and his captain now found themselves in—he could feel irritation begin to creep in. He was a man of science, of data and facts. But he had no data and thus he could draw no conclusions. He was, for lack of a better term, helpless. Helpless to do anything about his own situation, and equally helpless to do anything that could improve the situation of his captain.

. . .

Jim could no longer differentiate between the part of his arms that had been cut and the part that hadn't. He had given up on trying to stay silent after almost half an hour of constant torture, but after another hour he had become too hoarse to make much sound. Now, his mind was a blurred mess of pain.

"Well, Captain, are you ready to sign those papers?" Teanar asked him for what had to be at least the fifteenth time.

As he had before, Jim stayed silent, but he was no longer able to look at the man with defiance, he was too tired. Instead, he let them slip closed and focused instead on the first thing he would do once he was back on the Enterprise. Bones would likely lock him in the medbay for days, but Jim knew how to override the locks. And once he did, he would sneak out to the observation deck and watch the stars. And then he would—

A burst of pain burst across his face. His torturer had backhanded him. It didn't hurt nearly as much as all of his other wounds did, but it startled him enough that Jim opened his eyes to see the Reskarian looming over him. "You will look at the High Councilor when he speaks to you!"

"Thank you, Kor. Now, Captain, as I was saying, this could all be over soon if you simply sign the agreement. I'm sure the Federation would understand. After all, even a captain as dedicated as yourself would have to give in eventually."

Jim swallowed dryly and forced a single word through his bloodied lips. "Never." His voice was cracked and broken, but he injected it with as much determination and anger as he could, and Teanar frowned.

"Perhaps it is time that you tried a different tactic, Kor. As entertaining as it is to listen to the captain scream, it is his signature that I require."

As Teanar spoke, Jim felt dread pool in his stomach. He wasn't sure how much more his body could take before he simply gave up and accepted the bliss of unconsciousness. The only reason he hadn't yet was because he knew that every second they spent focused on him was a second they didn't spend focused on Spock.

"Of course, High Councilor."

His torturer moved from Jim's side once more, and he could hear him rummaging through the supplies behind him. After a minute or so, the man returned and set something on the table just outside of Jim's vision. Then, he moved so that he was standing over Jim once more. A few moments later, pain blossomed across Jim's abdomen. This time, however, it wasn't accompanied by the sickening smell of his burning flesh, and the metal was cool against his skin.

Looking down as much as the restraint around his neck allowed him to, Jim saw that the Reskarian was simply cutting lines into the soft flesh of his stomach. It still hurt—by the stars above did it hurt—but it wasn't nearly as bad as what had been done to his arms, which still felt as if they were burning.

The torturer worked in silence for a few minutes, and before long, most of Jim's abdomen was covered in thin red lines that dripped down his skin, staining the garment that his torturer hadn't even bothered to remove. Then, the Reskarian turned around and reached for something, likely whatever he had placed on the table earlier.

When he turned back to Jim, there was a smile on his face that would have made Jim shiver had he not been secured so tightly. Through everything, the torturer had kept a small grin on his face, and there had been mocking laughter in his voice any time he had spoken to Jim, but there had never been anything like this. This was an expression of pure delight, and it terrified Jim.

"Tell me," the Reskarian said in a conversational tone, holding up the object he had grabbed for Jim to see. It was a bowl, filled to the brim with some form of yellow crystalline powder. "Have you ever heard the Terran phrase 'rubbing salt in a wound'?" Instantly, Jim's mind connected the dots, and he couldn't keep his eyes from widening in horror. "Ah, I see that you have. Well, this is the Reskarian version, and I can promise you with a good degree of certainty that it is much worse." Then, without any further preamble, the man dipped his fingers in the powder and rubbed it into one of the long cuts on Jim's stomach.

Jim couldn't keep the scream from clawing its way from his burning throat. It felt as if his skin was both freezing and boiling at the same time, and he could feel each grain of the substance as it made contact with his torn skin.

"Typically, the Okko powder is harmless and has no effect on humanoids, but as you can see, it creates powerful sensations of agony when it comes in contact with damaged skin. It is quite a marvel of nature."

Jim barely heard the words that his torturer spoke, as his entire mind was focused on the pure pain in his stomach. He didn't register that the man had moved until, impossibly, the pain increased as the Reskarian rubbed another powder-covered finger across another one of the cuts on his stomach. Jim screamed again, the sound echoing around the room.

After nearly a quarter of an hour of this torture, half of Jim's stomach was colored yellow, and his mind was nothing more than an ocean of pain. He knew, somewhere, that there was a reason why he hadn't succumbed to the call of the darkness yet, but he couldn't remember why, and as agony flared through him again, he found he couldn't resist it any longer, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

A/N So, what did you think of the chapter? Poor Jim. Why can't he ever be stranded on a nice planet? Anyway, thanks so much for reading! I'm going to try and post at least two chapters a week (when possible), but other than that, I can't promise regular publishing days. As always, I would love to know your thoughts, so leave me a comment/review. Also, if you feel like the torture was too graphic for a 'T' rated story, let me know.


	8. Bandages and Bruises

A/N Personally, I really like this chapter, and I hope you do too.

Spock knew that his captain was injured before he saw him. His ears detected the sound of several booted feet approaching his cell, along with the sound of something—or someone—being hauled along with them. His captain would never allow himself to be dragged if he could walk; his dignity wouldn't allow it. That meant that his captain was no longer able to move under his own power, leading Spock to the conclusion that the high councilor had tortured the man in order to force him to comply with his demands. His fear was confirmed when the door to his cell opened, and two guards stepped through, Jim's limp body hanging between them.

Spock's eyes instantly went to his captain's chest, searching for a sign that the man was still alive. As he watched, the captain took a shallow breath, and some of the tightness in Spock's own chest lessened. Until his eyes turned to the rest of his captain's body, that was.

The man's arms were covered in cuts that looked as if they had been crudely cauterized, and the wounds on his stomach had been smeared in some kind of yellow substance that Spock couldn't identify. They were still bleeding sluggishly, the red liquid soaking the light fabric of the robe that the man still wore.

Spock took all of this in in an instant, and he stepped forward as soon as the soldiers crossed the threshold. He reached for his captain, but before he could do anything else, Teanar stepped into the cell, a smile on his face.

"I wouldn't move any further, First Officer," he warned. "Your captain's life is in my hands."

Spock froze. Rage simmered inside of him, but he pushed it away with no small amount of effort. He would not be able to help his captain if he allowed his emotions to control him. "Seeing as you have had ample opportunity to kill the captain if you wished to do so, one can safely assume that you did not obtain the signature that you require. The captain is the only person authorized to provide you with that signature, therefore you must keep him alive."

"You assume much, my Vulcan friend, but you are correct. Your captain has been quite resilient," Teanar admitted with a small inclination of his head. "I would continue my efforts to persuade him, but my new position as High Councilor has given me other responsibilities that must be attended to. I will return later."

As he finished speaking, the guards supporting the captain between them released their hold, causing the man to pitch forward. Spock caught him just as his head was about to make contact with the floor. He gathered the man in his arms as gently as he could, hardly noticing when the door closed and left he and the captain alone in the dim light of the device that Eson had brought earlier.

For several moments, Spock could only stare at the wounds that decorated much of his captain's skin, his mind almost refusing to process the reality of them. Then, the man in his arms gave a small groan, snapping him from his trance and proving that the situation was painfully real. Moving as carefully as he could so as to avoid aggravating the open cuts on the captain's stomach, Spock placed him on one of the bedrolls that they had been given. Once the captain was situated, he sat back and examined his limited options. He wanted to bind the wounds, but as he was unsure of the nature of the yellow powder he figured it would be best to refrain from doing so until he could gather more information. Instead, he did his best to remove as much of the powder as possible. His efforts, however, were largely unsuccessful, as the powder had mixed with the captain's blood, becoming a sticky substance that proved difficult to remove without the aid of water.

As he worked, Spock tried to control his emotions. His anger and guilt would do his captain no good, he knew, but he found that he had difficulty accepting that logic. The people who had done this to his captain deserved to be brought to justice for their crimes, but he had no way to do so. He was vastly outnumbered, and his foes had weaponry that gave them an edge he could not compete with. All he could do was tend to his captain.

. . .

Jim woke to pain. It seemed to come from the entire top half of his body, and for several moments, the intensity of it paralyzed him. Eventually, however, the pain seemed to recede to a more manageable level, and he was able to take a mental stock of his body. The pain was not coming from his entire upper body, but rather from his arms and torso alone, the torso being the source of the worst of it. The intensity of it was incredible, but some part of Jim knew that it wasn't as bad as it should be.

The feeling of pressure against his leg broke Jim from his thoughts, and he flinched away, screwing his eyes closed even tighter.

"Captain," a familiar voice said. "Captain." Jim refused to open his eyes. Somehow, he knew that if he opened his eyes, he would find himself back in that room with Teanar and his torturer grinning down at him. But then the voice spoke again. "Jim."

The single word conveyed such quiet calm and safety, that Jim opened his eyes. After blinking a few times, the figure leaning over him came into focus to reveal Spock, thinly veiled concern written across his Vulcan features.

"Captain, can you speak?"

That was a good question. Jim had to swallow a few times before he was able to get his vocal cords to work enough to answer it. "I'm fine, Spock."

The Vulcan didn't even bother to raise an eyebrow at the obvious untruth of the statement. Jim was far from fine, and they both knew it. "A servant delivered water while you were unconscious. With your permission, I would like to clean the wounds on your abdomen and bandage them. I would have done so sooner, but I—"

"Go ahead," Jim cut Spock off, gesturing vaguely with one hand, doing his best to ignore the pain that flared through his arm as he did so. "It can't hurt any worse than it already has."

Spock looked hesitant, but he nodded and stood from his position at Jim's side and walked out of his field of vision for a few moments before returning with a small jug and kneeling once more. Then, he tore off a portion of his robe and dipped it into the jug. "I must warn you, Captain, that this will likely be painful."

Jim's torn lips formed a gruesome copy of a smile. "It's alright, Spock. And please, call me Jim. Captain is just too formal for a situation like this." He had heard his title mocked too many times within the last several hours—had it been over a day yet?—and while he knew Spock would never do so, he also selfishly wanted to be reminded that he was still Jim, not just the captain on whom the blame would rest for this whole mess.

This time, Spock did raise an eyebrow at Jim's words, but he nodded anyway. "Very well, Jim." Then, he began to wipe away the dried blood and Okko powder. At first, it barely hurt, but then Spock dabbed at one of his cuts, and Jim had to bite down on his already broken lip to keep from yelling out. Spock noticed his pain and withdrew his makeshift rag immediately.

"Capt—Jim, I apologize for causing you pain, but I must clean these wounds. This substance could cause additional harm to your body if it remains."

Jim squeezed his eyes shut once more. "I know, Spock. Just—just carry on. I'm fine. I can handle it."

Spock gazed at him for several moments before wordlessly taking one of Jim's hands and raising it to his own arm. Jim looked at the Vulcan in surprise, but he only nodded once and turned back to his task. As Spock began to clean the wounds once again, Jim gripped the Vulcan's arm to distract himself from the pain that flared through him. He didn't want to hurt Spock, but any time he tried to lessen the pressure Spock would stop and nod for him to continue. Finally, the pain ended, and Jim released his grip.

"They didn't happen to give us any bandages, did they?" Jim asked, his voice rough, as Spock set aside the water jug and rag. His voice was fragile—on the edge of breaking—but he stubbornly pushed past it, and Spock thankfully didn't mention it.

"They did not, but the material of the Reskarian robes is a suitable replacement," Spock answered, beginning to shrug off the top part of the garment they had both been given what seemed like ages ago. Jim wanted to protest, but he knew that it would be pointless. His own top was mostly shredded, and he really didn't feel like facing Teanar without his pants, so he kept quiet as Spock began to carefully tear his shirt into long, thick strips of cloth.

"Are you able to sit up, Jim?" Spock asked once he had amassed a pile of makeshift bandages.

Jim nodded and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, a small groan of pain escaping him as he did so. His back and arms were stiff from being restrained for so long, and his body strongly disliked the idea of moving. Still, he was able to maneuver himself to where he was leaning his shoulders against the wall, allowing Spock room to work.

Once he was in position, Spock knelt beside him and began to bind his wounds. The Vulcan worked in silence, and Jim could tell that his mind was focused, so he allowed his eyes to slip closed, focusing on the feeling of Spock's careful, gentle hands against his skin, a welcome contrast to the harshness of the Reskarian's hands.

After a few minutes, Spock stood and moved to Jim's other side, and the movement caused Jim to open his eyes once again. As he did so, Spock knelt down, bringing his shoulder and upper arm eye-level with Jim, revealing a dark-green bruise that was beginning to form on the Vulcan's upper arm. A bruise in the shape of Jim's hand.

"You should have stopped me," Jim whispered, shame flooding him as he looked at the bruise he had caused. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He didn't mean for Spock to suffer for his weakness. If he had just been able to manage the pain on his own—

Spock turned to face him, and Jim met his eyes for a brief instant before looking away once more. Then Spock's eyes landed on the bruise forming on his arm. "It is of no consequence, Jim," he said simply, barely sparing the handprint a glance before turning his attention back to the wounds on Jim's stomach.

"Yes, it is, Spock," Jim protested. "I hurt you. We're surrounded by people who would like nothing more than to torture us for the rest of time, and I hurt you! It's disgusting, and I apologize."

Spock stopped his movements and turned to Jim, raising an eyebrow. "And I caused you pain when I cleaned your wounds. Was that also 'disgusting'?"

"What? No, you were just doing what you had to do."

"I was, and yet I still hurt you. I provided you with a distraction from that pain; there is nothing to apologize for," Spock insisted, and looking into his eyes, Jim found that he didn't have the strength to argue anymore. Spock seemed to sense this, for he turned away and began to bandage Jim's wounds once more, leaving them both in silence.

Once he finished, he gathered the remaining strips of his shredded robe and piled them next to the bedroll. Jim watched him for a few moments before leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

"I noticed we got some new furnishings," he said after a few moments, keeping his eyes shut.

"Indeed. It seems that the promise of more comfortable lodgings is the only promise that High Councilor Teanar is capable of keeping," Spock responded, and Jim knew without looking that the Vulcan had settled cross-legged on his own bedroll.

"Don't be so hard on him yet, Spock. I think he's perfectly capable of keeping his promise of more pain," Jim had meant for his words to be light, but instead they fell heavily on the air between them, and he sighed. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

"But it is the truth. I do not doubt that Teanar is both capable of and willing to deliver on that promise, although his efforts will be futile," Spock said. "Even if you were to sign the agreement, the Federation would not honor it, as you are obviously under duress."

"Teanar disagrees," Jim replied, opening his eyes to look at Spock. The Vulcan was, in fact, sitting cross-legged on his own bedroll on the other side of the room a little over two meters away. "For some reason, the man is convinced that both the Federation and the Klingons will agree to this mad scheme of his and make him rich."

Spock frowned slightly, his lips pulling down a centimeter or two. "His conviction is illogical. History has shown that planets caught between the Klingons and the Federation are often destroyed culturally and economically. Their people suffer, trapped between two opposing sides much more powerful than they are."

"I know, but Teanar doesn't seem to care." Jim paused for a moment before adding, "I wonder where he got the idea that he could pull this scheme off at all. Planning the High Councilor's assassination must have taken weeks of planning."

"Indeed. It does seem unusual that Teanar would be able to gather the forces that he has without also drawing the attention of the former High Councilor." Spock tilted his head in the same way he did whenever he was considering all sides of a problem. It was something Jim had often seen when they played chess together, and despite the situation, Jim felt his lips pull up a fraction. "In light of this, I believe that it is quite possible that Teanar is not the only councilor that is a member of this movement. High Councilor Orolon believed the group of dissenters to be small in number, but that has proven to be unlikely."

"It makes me wonder how Ambassador Silas didn't know about the tension," Jim mused. "This group isn't mentioned in any of his notes. In fact, he describes Reskar as one of the most unified and peaceful planets that he's ever seen outside of the Federation."

"The Ambassador was likely only shown a portion of the world, and as Teanar was able to fool even his own High Councilor, leading the Ambassador to believe that Reskar was at peace would have been a simple matter of controlling his exposure to the planet's political climate."

Jim nodded slowly, satisfied with Spock's analysis. The man was rarely wrong about things such as this, and he could find no fault in his logic. They lapsed into silence, and Jim found his mind drifting. He was unable to focus on any one thought for long before a sharp twinge of pain would pull him from his mind and suddenly back to the harsh reality of his situation. Still, he tried his best to distract himself by focusing his thoughts on the Enterprise.

Scotty was taking good care of her, Jim knew. In fact, her engine was likely purring like a cat with warm milk and spot of sun to lay in. The Scotsman had always had a way of making the ship run in a way that no one else could. It was as if he could speak to her, like some kind of ship-whisperer. Jim shook his head at that thought and pushed it aside. There really was something wrong with him if he was comparing his ship to a cat and a phrase like ship-whisperer had popped into his head.

Trying a different approach to distract himself, Jim reopened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and looked over at Spock. The Vulcan appeared to be meditating, legs crossed and hands resting palm-up on his knees. But where usually Spock was the image of calm when meditating, there was a storm across his face. His eyebrows were drawn together and his lips were pulled down in a frown, and seeing the expression made Jim feel as if he were intruding on something private. His First Officer was almost always calm and controlled; seeing this much emotion on his face was unnerving.

For a few long moments, Jim wasn't sure what he should do. Part of him wanted to close his eyes and pretend that he hadn't seen through the cracks in Spock's mask, but part of him wanted to say something, to let his friend—did that word even apply to Spock?—know that he was here for him, Eventually, Jim's concern won out.

"Spock?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet. It was still raspy, but it was an improvement from earlier. "Is there something wrong?"

Across the room, the Vulcan's eyes shot open and the mask fell over his features once more as his eyebrows returned to their normal positions and his lips smoothed into a thin line. "I am adequate, Captain."

Jim shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I told you, it's Jim. What's bothering you, Spock? Aside from the fact that we've been captured by a crazy Reskarian dissenter, of course."

Spock didn't even raise an eyebrow at Jim's words, which worried him. Usually, the Vulcan was quick to remark on Jim's ill-timed humor, even if he didn't say anything about it aloud. The fact that he hadn't told Jim that something was truly disturbing him.

"Spock, please. What is it?"

Spock actually looked down, breaking his gaze. "I was meditating on a subject which you have expressed a desire not to pursue, Capt—Jim. I will not further disturb you with it."

"'Expressed a desire not to pursue'? I don't remember expressing much of anything recently except overall frustration and some poor attempts at humor." And shame, but he couldn't bring himself to say that out loud. Spock had already had to deal with his weaknesses enough.

"When we last spoke of it, you altered the discussion to a different topic, and I understood your intention." He paused for a long moment. "Nevertheless, I find that I must disobey your wishes." Spock's eyes flashed upward for an instant, and Jim saw pain in them, but the man looked down before he could fully decipher it. "I must apologize for the treatment that you suffered earlier today. I should have perceived Teanar's intent and offered myself in your place."

Oh. This subject.

"Nonsense, Spock." Jim tried to sound lighthearted, but he knew he fell short of the mark. "I knew there was a chance that Teanar would decide that I would need a more hands-on method of persuasion. And besides, I ordered you to stay back and let me do the talking. You did what I asked, and there's no reason to blame yourself for anything that happened." Jim decided to leave out the fact that he had purposefully kept Teanar's attention on him as long as he could. He was being a hypocrite and he knew it, but if he admitted that to Spock, the Vulcan would likely insist on doing the same for him, and he couldn't allow that.

For a long moment, Spock didn't speak. Finally, he raised his head and met Jim's gaze. "Logically, Jim, you are correct. I was following orders, and there is little that I could have done that would have impacted the events that occurred. I know this."

He looked down again, and Jim got the distinct feeling that he was seeing a part of Spock that he wasn't meant to see.

"Please, Captain, I ask that you simply accept my apology, despite its illogic."

Jim looked at the Vulcan for a long moment, taking in Spock's bowed head and the hands clasped tightly in front of him. Then he sighed heavily and nodded. "Very well, Mr. Spock. Consider your apology accepted. Now get some rest, and don't give me any of that Vulcan nonsense about needing less sleep than humans. I have a feeling we're both going to need our energy soon."

Spock only nodded in reply and closed his eyes. Jim wanted to do something, to say something that could fix whatever it was that was going on, but he had no idea what to do. Instead, he slowly crawled into his bedroll and closed his eyes, praying that they would find a way out of this mess soon.

A/N What do you think? I feel like my story is getting boring, but I've also read these chapters like a million times. Please, if you have a suggestion or a comment, let me know. I don't have a beta reader, so it's just me, myself, and I cooking up some angst up here. (By the way, I promise the angst won't last forever. I mean, the situation is still bad, but it won't be this level of bad. Give it like four or five more chapters.)


	9. A Logical Decision

A/N: Here's another chapter for you wonderful people! It's a bit of a filler, but its Spock's POV, which is always exciting to write. Enjoy!

Sleep did not come to Spock, and he did not chase after it. Instead, once he was certain his captain—Jim—was asleep, his thankfully steady and deep breaths filling the cell, he allowed his eyes to open once more and settle on Jim.

His captain had been tortured. Even thinking the words made Spock's blood simmer with rage, and he found that he didn't truly want to curb it. The Reskarians had, with Teanar at their head, violated over three dozen galactic agreements by capturing and holding him and Jim, but by torturing his captain, they had crossed the final line. At this point, the Federation was well within its legal rights to declare war on Reskar in order to force the planet to compensate for their actions and would likely do so...if the Federation knew that such an atrocity had occurred. But it did not.

By now, the Enterprise would likely be looking for them, but if Spock was correct in his estimations of how far underground they were, the ship's scanners would be unable to pick up their signatures. Their communicators might be able to work if connected to an amplifying device of some type, but they had access to neither component, and Spock highly doubted that their situation in that regard would change any time soon. It was possible that Mr. Scott would send down a secondary landing party to locate them, but it would be easy for the Reskarians to divert their attention elsewhere and conceal the truth of the situation.

That left Spock with nothing. Typically, he would attempt to formulate a plan for their eventual escape, but he knew that this time such efforts would be ultimately futile. Even if he and the captain were able to overwhelm and disarm their guards, they would have no hope of reaching the surface and contacting the Enterprise without being captured once more, especially considering the captain's condition.

As if on cue, a small groan of pain came from across the room as Jim shifted in his sleep, causing him to put additional pressure on one of the wounds on his arm. Despite that, the man did not wake, and the pain on his face quickly faded into a slack expression. Spock found little comfort in that, however, and he had to work to keep his emotions under control. There was a part of him that wished to cross the room, kneel at his captain's side, and initiate a bond between them that would allow him to dull the man's pain and provide him with a period of more restful sleep, but he didn't. He would never initiate a meld without Jim's consent.

Had he been fully human, Spock might have sighed. Instead, he stood and made his way to the small light that they had been given by Eson earlier. The object was round and rested on the floor in the center of the room, throwing a moderate amount of light on the cold grey walls of the room. Touching the top of the crystalline sphere, Spock turned the light off, plunging the room into blackness once again. It would be illogical to waste the power of the sphere when it was not needed, and Spock had little need for the light.

Crossing the room again—he had memorized every centimeter of their small space, making it easy to navigate in the dark—Spock sat once more upon his bedroll. Closing his eyes, he began the process of meditation. But it would only be a shallow one, for he kept his hearing focused on Jim.

His meditation was far from peaceful. Due to his efforts to keep his senses focused on his captain's wellbeing, Spock could not exercise full control over his thoughts and found that they rebelliously returned to the conversation that he had had with Jim only minutes before the man had fallen asleep.

Illogically, Spock had begged—Spock tried not to think about how appropriate that word was for his actions—for forgiveness for a situation he could not have altered in any way. For a few moments, his control had broken, and his inner conflict had shone through. He had allowed Jim to see the discord in his mind, see the emotion that Spock carefully hid from the world.

And Jim had responded with understanding.

As First Officer, it was his duty to remain calm and controlled so that he could best inform his captain of their circumstances and provide his logical analysis and opinion when the situation called for it. And in that moment, Spock had been anything but calm. Still, his captain had accepted his lapse in logic almost instantly and instead of berating him, Jim had attempted to comfort him. His captain had just been tortured, and instead of lashing out at Spock, an action which could have been justified by Spock's failure to protect him, he pushed aside his own agony to help him. Because that's who James Tiberius Kirk was.

Guilt still lingered in the back of Spock's mind, but after those thoughts, he found that he was able to largely calm his mind, allowing him to slip into a more restful meditation despite his focus on Jim.

. . .

Four hours and twenty-nine minutes later, Jim woke from his sleep with a loud gasp. Instantly, Spock was on his feet and crossing the room, kneeling by his captain's side before the man was able to do more than prop himself onto his elbow.

"Capt—Jim, are you alright?" he asked, resting his hand on the bedroll a few inches from the other man's elbow.

His captain let out a ragged cough and swallowed several times before speaking. "Spock? What happened to the light? I can't see you." He coughed again. "Stars, please tell me I'm not going blind as well." He chuckled lightly, but Spock could hear the fear in the sound, and guilt immediately flooded him.

"No, Jim. I turned off the light we were given in order to conserve its power, as we do not know how long it will last," Spock explained. "I will turn it on." He stood and quickly strode the three steps it took to reach the small device and turned it on.

When he turned back to face his captain, he felt his heart rate quicken. Somehow, Jim looked even worse now than he did before he had fallen asleep. His face had lost most of its color, leaving him looking pale and fragile, and the bandages on his stomach were mostly darkened red with blood.

"Thanks. I'm not a big fan of the dark," Jim said, a grin somehow managing to steal across his face despite the situation that they were in and his obviously worsened condition.

Spock stepped back to his side, kneeling down once more as Jim struggled into a sitting position. He wanted to extend a hand and help, but he knew that his captain's stubborn pride would be wounded if he did. "I apologize if I caused you undue stress by turning off the light," he said, allowing some of the guilt to show in his eyes.

Jim waved his apology away, but the movement caused him to wince in pain. He glared at his own arm for a moment before saying, "It's fine, Spock. I'm just glad I'm not blind. That would really put a damper on the situation." The corner of his lips pulled up slightly, and Spock couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the comment as a small amount of relief went through him. If Jim still had his sense of humor, the situation wasn't too critical.

"As am I, Jim. However, you have only slept for five hours and thirteen minutes. It would be logical for you to continue to sleep while you still have the opportunity to do so," Spock stated, his gaze roaming over the wounds on his captain's body. "I would change your bandages first, but I believe that we may have a more pressing need of our small cloth supply later."

Jim's face lost its small grin, and he nodded gravely. "You're right, Spock. There's no telling what Teanar and his goons will do next, and it's smart to try and conserve our resources." Then the man looked down, scratching the back of his head with one hand. "As for the sleep thing...I'm not sure that's going to be possible."

"Are you experiencing nightmares, Capt—Jim?" Spock hadn't detected any sounds from the captain while he had been meditating, but it was possible that his meditation had gone much deeper than he intended it to and caused him to lose the awareness he had attempted to maintain. If the captain had indeed been in distress, it was possible that Spock wouldn't have known.

"No, it's not that. It's just..." Jim looked down again, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "I just don't think I'll be able to sleep," he said finally. "But don't worry about it, Spock. Five hours of sleep isn't bad, all things considered."

"Very well, Captain. However, I must ask that you try to refrain from moving your torso. Although the cuts are shallow there, they have bled for longer than they should, an effect of the yellow substance I removed, I believe. As I am uncertain what other effects it may have, it is best for you to move as little as possible."

"Will do. The yellow stuff is called Okko powder, by the way. At least, that's what the Reskarian 'persuading me' described it as. He said it was like salt, but more painful." He grimaced. "He was right."

Once again, Spock had to work to reign in his emotions. It took him several seconds longer than it should have—seventeen, to be exact—but when he did, he spoke carefully. "The powder's makeup did appear to be crystalline like that of salt. However, there is little more that I can learn about it without the proper tools."

Jim nodded. "Of course. Stars, what I wouldn't give for a tricorder right about now!" He sighed and leaned his head against the smooth stone behind him. "We could learn so much about this planet, Spock...too bad the man in charge is a psychopath."

"Indeed. I believe that Reskar is home to many plants and minerals that could be useful to the Federation and the galaxy as a whole," Spock responded. It was likely that his captain was attempting to distract himself from the pain of his injuries with conversation, and Spock was glad to do anything that would help. "It is quite probable that there are plants here that could hold the cure to a number of illnesses, as the Illisgat plant did."

Jim's eyes slid closed as he responded. "I wonder if that solution of yours has been confirmed by Starfleet yet. Kirrian-3 would be glad to have it."

"Considering the amount of time that has passed since the submission of my report, I believe it is likely that the Starfleet doctors have synthesized a cure," Spock said. "The residents of Kirrian-3 should be able to be inoculated within the next nine days."

Jim's eyes remained closed, but a small smile appeared on his lips. "That's incredible, Spock. You and McCoy saved a billion lives, and you did it with less time than you had been promised." His eyes opened and locked on Spock's, and his smile grew. "That's incredible," he repeated.

Before Spock could reply, his ears picked up the sound of several Reskarians approaching. He had learned to distinguish somewhat between the sound of their strides, and he knew that Teanar was among the group, along with the two guards that had dragged the captain back to the cell earlier.

In an instant, Spock was on his feet. "Teanar is returning," he said quietly, seeking Jim's gaze and holding it. "I ask that you do not do anything to further upset them in an attempt to draw their ire." He couldn't allow Jim to sacrifice himself for him again, not in the state that he was in now.

"I'm the captain, Spock," Jim protested. "It's my job!"

"No," Spock countered, shaking his head slowly. "It is mine."

Jim opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, the solid door to their cell swung open, and Spock turned away from his captain, positioning himself between Jim and the door. His hands went to their place behind his back, and as the first of the Reskarians stepped into the small room, Spock's face became an impassive mask.

Two guards stepped in—Spock recognized them as the same ones whose footsteps he had been able to distinguish in the hallway, followed by Teanar. The Reskarian was wearing a new robe, this one colored a lurid yellow, and his head was topped with an intricately woven circlet of gleaming metal. It seemed the man had been officially inducted to his new office.

"High Councilor," Spock nodded, keeping his voice emotionless, despite the anger that curled in his stomach at the sight of the man.

"Ah, First Officer Spock! I see you have taken it upon yourself to care for your captain," the man replied with an oily smile. "Perhaps you could convince him of the validity of my offer to him."

Spock knew without turning that his captain had opened his mouth to retaliate, and he quickly cut him off. "It is not my place to question my captain's decisions, High Councilor. I can only inform him of what I believe to be the best course of action," Spock said shortly. "Currently, I believe that course should be a continued refusal of your highly illogical agreement."

"Spock!" His name was a quiet hiss on his captain's lips, but Spock ignored it. He had asked his captain to avoid antagonizing the Reskarians. He had never promised that he would do the same.

"Furthermore, I believe that both you and those who collaborated with your coup to overthrow High Councilor Orolon should be brought before a Federation tribunal and sentenced for your crimes against the Federation," Spock continued, and a small part of him found satisfaction in the way Teanar's brows drew together and his lips began to twist into a sneer. "You have violated thirty-five different treaties with our capture, and by physically harming the captain, you have granted the Federation the legal right to declare war against your world. Do you still believe that your decisions thus far have been wise?"

Instead of replying, Teanar waved a single hand, and the guard to his left stepped forward. Spock saw the blow coming, but he didn't move. The Reskarian's fist connected with his jaw and Spock's head whipped to the side with the force of it.

Once the Reskarian stepped back, Spock fixed Teanar with a cool gaze, pushing aside the pain that had bloomed in his jaw. It seemed that Reskarians possessed a strength that was greater than that of humans.

"Do you have anything else to say, First Officer?" Teanar asked, smiling to reveal his charcoal teeth.

"No, he doesn't," this time, it was Jim's stern voice that spoke. "Stand down, Commander."

Spock heard the man stand and take a step forward, a faint exhale of breath following the motion, no doubt triggered by the pain that flared to life with each of the captain's movements. After a few moments, Jim came to a stop a step behind Spock, and the Vulcan had to resist the instinct to step in front of him and shield his body with his own.

For a single instant, Spock analyzed the likely outcomes of the conversation. Teanar's eyes had turned away from him and were now fixed fully on the captain, indicating that if Jim was allowed to continue to speak, he would likely be selected as the subject for the Reskarians' next round of torture.

"My apologies, Captain, but there is a matter I must discuss with the High Councilor," Spock stated, still not turning to face the anger that was surely darkening Jim's eyes. "High Councilor Teanar, the agreement which you intend to force the captain to sign is not only illogical but foolish as well."

"Commander Spock!" The anger had carried into his words now, but overshadowing that anger was fear.

"By entering into trade with both the Federation and the Klingon Empire while insisting on Federation protection," Spock continued as if he had never been interrupted, "you are creating the ideal atmosphere for war between the two powers. Even if this is your intent and you hope to profit from the ensuing chaos, you will find that a planet caught in the middle of such a feud suffers far more than either of the participants." Teanar's face was twisted in anger now, and Spock knew he was close to pushing the man over the edge.

"You will be the first to fall, along with the rest of your compatriots. The Klingons always prefer to take out the leadership of enemy factions first when possible. I have heard that their methods of doing so are remarkably efficient—and savage. And the Federation will place an embargo on the planet, of course. Your people will be unable to receive aid, and you will be unable to flee. In fact—"

Spock didn't get the chance to finish his sentence, as another blow connected with his jaw, this one coming from Teanar himself. It seemed he had accomplished his goal of eliciting an emotional response from the Reskarian.

"Your First Officer doesn't seem fond of following orders, Captain Kirk. I cannot allow such blatant insubordination to go unpunished." As Teanar spoke, the two guards stepped forward and grabbed Spock by his arms. The Vulcan allowed them to begin to pull him roughly from the cell, a warm sense of triumph bubbling in his stomach as he did so.

"Wait!" Jim's voice sounded close to breaking. "My First Officer was only doing what he perceived to be his duty. If you have to punish someone, punish me! It's my ideas he was expressing." Out of the corner of his eye, Spock saw his captain step towards Teanar, arms crossed in front of him defiantly.

"Don't worry, Captain. I'll take care of the matter," Teanar chuckled. "And I am sure there will be plenty to punish you for later. Now, behave, or things will get much worse for your First Officer." With those words, Teanar turned on his heel and strode out the door of the cell, the two guards yanking Spock forward to follow him.

As he stepped over the threshold, Spock glanced back to see his captain standing with his arms hanging limply at his side, his head bowed. The man would likely blame himself for whatever happened to him, but that pain would be less than the pain of enduring another round of torture. Still, Spock couldn't stop the guilt that flashed through him as he was shoved roughly from behind and forced to leave the cell, and Jim, behind.

A/N: What did you think? Spock is being a reckless idiot (I'm sure he thinks it's logical) which I'm sure won't have any negative consequences later! Also, I wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who has commented on this story so far, especially those who commented on the last chapter. You guys are fabulous and I love you! Thanks to everyone for continuing to read!


	10. Consequences

A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains torture and mentions of abuse.

When the torture began, Spock was hardly surprised. He had been marched to a small room a considerable distance from the cell and forced inside. A Reskarian had been waiting there, but he had seemed surprised to see Spock, confirming his theory that it was the captain that Teanar had intended to torture.

There had been no preamble, aside from a few words from Teanar that Spock did not deign to acknowledge. Then, he was pushed to the middle of the room, and his hands were placed in shackles that hung from the ceiling while his ankles were secured to the floor. Instead of focusing on the words of the torturer in front of him—a Reskarian of considerable size—Spock turned his attention to his surroundings.

The room itself was not overly large; he estimated it to be 3.2 times larger than the cell he and Jim shared. Along the walls were several different contraptions and means of torture, including a chair whose straps appeared to be stained with red blood. Jim's blood. There were also two different carts that were laden with what seemed to be various tools used to inflict further pain. The first was covered in a wide array of knives and other sharp objects, while the second held what looked to be whips, rods, and several different containers whose contents Spock could not identify, although he recognized the Okko powder in one.

His analysis of the room was interrupted by a sharp jab to his ribs. Spock shut out the pain of the blow and focused his attention instead on Teanar, who was once again speaking.

"You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you, First Officer?" he asked, blue lips twisting into a smirk.

Spock did not reply. He did not care what the Reskarian had to say, much as he did not care what they did to him, so long as they remained focused on him and not his captain.

"Well, it seems you have several flaws of character that need rectifying, not just insubordination. However, I will allow your lapse in attention to go unpunished this time, as I am sure that your new surroundings hold many features of interest." The large Reskarian at Teanar's side grinned, his expression similar to that of an artist proudly displaying some of his greatest works. "I was remarking that your captain seems to be a man of great character. It is obvious, however, that he doesn't understand some of the nuances of power, the choices that a person in his position must be prepared to make." The light in Teanar's gaze seemed to shift from sadistic mania to something far more calculating. "But perhaps he does..."

For a long moment, Teanar was silent, and the Reskarian by his side began to fidget in the quiet. Spock didn't move his gaze from the High Councilor's face. Eventually, the man smiled and waved a hand. "We will have an opportunity for experiment later. For now, Kor, the Vulcan is yours."

. . .

Jim paced back and forth in the cell. The room was the same size it had always been, but it seemed that the stone walls were pressing in on him, slowly suffocating him as the seconds turned to minutes, and his thoughts descended deeper and deeper into darkness.

Spock had offered himself as a sacrifice. If Jim had been thinking clearer, he would have seen it coming and maybe he would have been able to stop the Vulcan. But he hadn't. He hadn't noticed the warning signs, and now Spock was being tortured in his place.

All at once, the reality of what Teanar was likely doing to his First Officer, to his friend, crashed down on Jim's shoulders, and he staggered under the weight of it, sinking to the floor, his knees digging into the cold stone floor. When they had been torturing Jim they had still needed his cooperation, so they weren't able to do any permanent damage. With Spock, there were no such stipulations. Teanar had no reason to show restraint against the Vulcan, and Jim knew that the Reskarian was sadistic enough to do unspeakable things. Things that should be done to Jim instead.

Bones often warned Jim that he underestimated his own mortality, and considering Jim's track record the doctor was probably right. But standing in the dim light of the cell, surrounded by shadows and cold stone, Jim felt the full weight of that mortality. But it was the reality of Spock's mortality that made it difficult for him to breathe past the pressure in his chest.

They had been in situations like this before numerous times. The theme of Jim attempting to sacrifice himself for the sake of the crew only for Spock to step in and save him or take the blow instead was an old one, old enough for there to be a not-so-secret betting pool centered on the topic every time either of them left on an away mission. Their willingness to take one for the team or for each other was part of what made them the best command team in the fleet. But they always came back. More often than not, they were scraped up and worse for wear, but they came back. This time, there was no promise of that, and if Spock were here, he would likely be able to tell Jim just how slim their chances of survival were.

Slowly, Jim forced himself to reverse the downward spiral of his thoughts. When Spock returned—because he would return, he had to—he would need Jim to take care of him the way he had after Jim had been tortured. Spock had been calm and logical and exactly what Jim had needed, and so Jim would be the same. Nodding to himself, Jim rose, his face a mask of determination. The dark thoughts were still there, banging on the wall that he had erected within his mind, but he electrified the wall, repelling them back to the deeper parts of his mind. He had a job to do.

. . .

Twenty-one. A crack and then the sound of something hard hitting skin. Twenty-two. Pain flared through Spock as yet another strike of the whip fell on his back, no doubt drawing green lines of blood from his body. Still, he made no sound and stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed on a point a dozen centimeters above the High Councilor's left shoulder.

The Reskarian had taken a seat after the first thirty minutes of abuse, during which time the torturer, Kor, had taken excessive pleasure in carving seemingly-meaningless patterns on Spock's upper arms. When that had failed to elicit a response from him, the man had moved on to the whip. This particular one had a small metal ball attached to the end of it, which served to increase the pain that the weapon inflicted and put Spock's bones at risk of being broken from the force of the blows.

"You are far more controlled than your captain was, Mr. Spock," Teanar stated in a conversational tone as another strike fell on Spock's bare back. "He swallowed his screams at first, but Kor was able to coax them out eventually. I'm sure he will be able to do the same for you as well."

Spock stayed silent, but on the inside he was seething. The High Councilor had taunted him several times by retelling his captain's torture, and each time he did, Spock saw red. However, the words also helped to reinforce his certainty that he had made the correct choice in offering himself in Jim's place. It was doubtful that the human would be able to endure the stress of another round of torture so soon.

His thoughts were abruptly cut off by the crack of the whip against his skin, the metal ball digging into the flesh just below his left shoulder blade. This time, Spock had difficulty keeping silent. It was only through great concentration that he was able to regulate his pain receptors, and the sudden disruption of his thoughts had caused his attention to waver, allowing the full effect of the pain to flare to life in a stripe across his back. Retreating into the calmness of his mind, he managed to keep his face blank as thirty-nine more strokes lashed his back.

The pain was broken by a sudden "Stop," from Teanar, and Spock heard the whip crack in the air as the Reskarian pulled back his next blow. The High Councilor stood from his chair and took a few steps toward Spock, until he was little more than half a meter away. For several long moments he seemed to study Spock, searching for something in his face, which the Vulcan did his best to keep carefully disinterested and vacant. After a few moments, a wide grin spread across his face, a chasm of darkness splitting the blue skin.

"If your captain would only sign the trade agreement, this could all end," he said, and Spock detested the silkiness of the words.

He remained silent, raising a single eyebrow in response.

"I am far from an expert on Vulcan physiology, Commander," the High Councilor said, stepping forward again and trailing a finger along the carvings in his right arm as he continued. "But I know that every species has to have a limit. Yours, I firmly believe, is much higher than that of your captain's. If I were to break him, what would happen to you? Hm?" The man pressed on one of the more severe wounds, and pain raced up his arm. "If I drove Captain Kirk to insanity, he would clearly be unfit for duty. What would that do to your rank?"

At the obvious threat to his captain's life, Spock couldn't remain silent any longer. "Cease your attempts at bribery. Even if the captain were to be declared unfit for duty and I were promoted, I would not sign this agreement of yours, and I have no desire for captaincy," Spock stated calmly, his voice only slightly hoarse.

Teanar let out a chuckle at his words, pressing hard on another wound. "Of course, you do seem to be exceptionally loyal to the captain. After all, why else would you offer yourself up for him? Or is this behavior expected of all First Officers?"

Teanar's hand trailed to his left arm and pressed down on the tender skin there. This skin, however, was not marred with the cuts of a knife but rather a dark green bruise that still vaguely resembled a handprint. "Perhaps a mighty Starfleet captain such as he does not appreciate the sacrifice of his subordinate officer." He traced the place where each of Jim's fingers had gripped Spock's arm. "To willingly injure the man who tended to his wounds—"

Logically, Spock knew that the High Councilor was attempting to lure him into an emotional reaction, but that didn't stop him from interrupting the Reskarian, his anger only barely contained. "The captain has never caused a member of his crew—or any other being—intentional harm without being threatened himself," he defended, and he was unable to keep all of the emotion from his voice. "My injury is self-inflicted and has little significance when compared to the damage your servant has caused." In truth, Spock had nearly forgotten about the bruise, as it truly did seem miniscule in comparison to the blood that dripped down his arms and back.

Another chuckle slipped from Teanar's blue lips. "Indeed. Well, Mr. Spock, I believe that your insubordination has been dealt with quite adequately, if you are able to speak such high praises of your captain. However, I cannot release you yet." The man waved again, and Spock heard his torturer move from his place behind him and dig among his various tools for several moments. Eventually, he stopped and stepped toward Spock, holding a length of black cloth in his hands.

"I believe you when you say that you have no desire for captaincy. I also believe you when you say that you would never sign the trade agreement. I even believe your claims that Captain Kirk's signature would be considered void by the Federation under the circumstances," Teanar said as Kor began to wrap the cloth over Spock's eyes. "But I have a solution. However, I'm afraid it requires your participation." The cloth was tied tightly behind Spock's head, and the material was thick enough that he could see nothing more than very vague and indistinct figures through it.

"Now, I am not going to gag you. But I must warn you; if you make any sound other than one of pain, it will be your captain who pays for it. Do you understand?" Spock inclined his head slightly. "Very good. Now, your captain should be arriving soon, so do your best to put on a good show."

. . .

Jim was pacing again. He had managed to keep himself busy for a time, making sure that there was enough water and bandages and arranging the bedrolls so that Spock would be more comfortable, but as one hour turned to two turned to two turned to three, he found that there was nothing he could do aside from think. Think and pace, and as pacing had proven to alleviate his thoughts, he had elected to take the second option. When he heard footsteps outside of the door, however, he froze.

For a brief instant, Jim hoped it was Spock, but he quickly realized that there was only on pair of feet approaching, and the reality was that after three hours of torture Spock likely wouldn't be able to move on his own, at least not at the swift pace Jim heard. When that information sunk in, Jim settled into a parade rest in front of the door, hiding his tightly clenched fists behind his back and trying his hardest to reign in his fury. He had to be diplomatic if he wanted to get Spock out of this mess.

A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal the young Reskarian who had first welcomed Jim and his landing party to the planet. Eson, Teanar's personal aide. The man looked nervous, his eyes sweeping the cell several times before he stepped just inside the threshold. Obviously, he hadn't been sent with backup, and he was rightly worried.

The thought of attempting to overpower the Reskarian crossed Jim's mind, but before he could even truly consider it, the young man spoke, his voice quiet and very nearly shaking. "High Councilor Teanar requests your presence, Captain James T. Kirk."

Instantly, all thoughts of fighting fled Jim's mind. Where was Spock? What had happened to him? Why did Teanar need Jim now? What had changed? "What's happened to my First Officer?" Jim demanded, taking a step closer to Eson, causing the man to stumble backward hastily.

"I do not know, sir. I only know that the High Councilor requires your presence and that your First Officer will be punished if you do not comply," he said, his eyes fixed firmly on the stone floor. "Please, do not make this difficult for yourself or the commander."

"Will you take me to Commander Spock?"

"I will take you to the High Councilor. I believe your First Officer is with him, but I am not certain."

Jim considered his options. Even in his injured state, he could likely overpower Eson, as the Reskarian did not appear to be armed or have any combat training. But Jim was just one man, and he didn't know where Spock was. Even if he did by some miracle manage to escape, there was no way he would be able to find Spock and free him as well.

"Lead the way."

. . .

Spock heard the door to the room open and he heard two distinct patterns of footsteps. One was Teanar's aide, Eson. The other was Jim. Thankfully, the man sounded as if he was walking under his own power, which meant that he likely had not been injured further since he had last seen the man and Spock's diversion had succeeded.

A few seconds later, Spock heard his captain let out a quiet whisper. "Spock." He had to restrain himself in order to stay silent and keep from reassuring Jim that he was well enough given the circumstances.

"What do you want from him, Teanar?" Jim demanded, and Spock heard him take a few angry steps forward, no doubt toward the High Councilor.

"I have taught him the price of insubordination, Captain. I believe you will find that your commander has only good things to say about you now," Teanar replied, and Spock could picture the oily grin on his face.

"You don't need Commander Spock's signature. Let him go, and the Federation might consider it a sign of good will." Spock was oddly proud of his captain's diplomatic tone and willingness to try and make the Reskarians see sense, unfortunately, he knew that the man's efforts were being wasted.

"I cannot, my good captain. You see, while I was rectifying the flaws in your First Officer's behavior," Spock heard the man begin to move toward him, "I learned something quite valuable. Commander Spock feels a great deal of loyalty toward you, despite the rather negative situation you have tangled him in. And I believe that loyalty is reciprocated." At the last word, Teanar squeezed Spock's upper arm where several of the deepest cuts were, causing the pain to flare up and blood to ooze from the wounds and between the man's fingers. Jim let out a quiet hiss and Spock fought to maintain his control over his pain receptors, a feat that was becoming more and more difficult with each accumulated injury.

"Don't touch him!" Jim commanded through clenched teeth, each syllable shaking with barely-controlled anger. His rage was met only with a dark chuckle.

"It seems I was right. Now that I have your full attention, Captain, I would like to propose an arrangement that will end your First Officer's suffering."

"Forget it, Teanar. I'm not signing that trade agreement. I've taken an oath as a captain," Jim responded quickly, but Spock could hear the guilt and uncertainty in his voice.

"I am not asking you to."

"Then what do you want from me?"

Teanar gave Spock's arm one last squeeze before walking back toward Jim. Spock heard him come to a stop after a few moments and could picture his captain and the High Councilor staring each other in the eyes for a long moment before the Reskarian spoke again. "I am asking you, Captain, to turn over command of the Enterprise to your next in command after First Officer Spock. This individual will likely be much more cooperative, especially after you tell them about the extensive benefits that Reskar will bring to the Federation."

There was a heavy silence. Spock had perceived Teanar's plan earlier, but hearing the words aloud made them real. The Reskarian expected Jim to hand over control of the Enterprise in exchange for a false promise of safety. The captain must have realized how improbable it was that Teanar would keep his end of the bargain, for he said,

"I won't do it, Teanar. Starfleet named me Captain of the Enterprise, not someone else. It is my duty to see this through to the end."

The Reskarian let out a sigh. "I was afraid you might say something like that, Captain, although I must admit that I had hoped you valued the life of your First Officer more."

A second after the High Councilor finished speaking, the whip that had previously battered Spock's skin cracked against his back once more, overlapping several of the other wounds. For an instant, the pain burst into Spock's conscience, but he pushed it down, focusing all of his mental abilities on managing his pain receptors. Five more strikes fell, each one breaking Spock's mental shields down a little further until—

"Stop! Stop, Teanar! I'm the one who's denying you; punish me!" Gone was the carefully diplomatic tone; in its place was guilt-laden rage. Once again, Spock wanted to call out and reassure his captain that he was willing to make this sacrifice, but he was all too aware that Teanar was more than willing to make good on his threat against Jim's life.

"No."

Two more lashes hit his back, and Spock had to stifle the groan of pain that threatened to slip past his lips. His mental shields were virtually nonexistent now—more proof of his half-blooded nature—but he refused to allow his own weakness to cause Jim any additional guilt or sorrow.

"Fine! Fine!" Jim shouted, and Spock's stomach dropped, another emotional response on his part. "I'll turn over command of the Enterprise, but I have to be able to contact the ship. And if I do, I want Commander Spock to receive medical attention."

"I have means of communicating with your ship, Captain Kirk. As for your First Officer, I cannot allow any of your medical personnel to beam down and see him in such a state, now can I? However, I will see that you are provided with the proper supplies, as my own doctors have no knowledge of Vulcan anatomy."

There was silence for several seconds. Even to Spock's pain-addled mind, it was obvious that the deal was a farce. If the captain did submit and release his control of the Enterprise, it was doubtful that they would survive for long after the signing. The High Councilor would invent some story to explain their disappearance to the crew of the Enterprise, perhaps even provide evidence in their bloodied clothes, and then quietly dispose of them. Jim would have to be severely compromised to accept such an—

"I'll do it. Get me a communicator."

A/N So, Spock has faced the consequences of his actions, and I really don't think he regrets it (yet). Jim on the other hand... Well, let's just say he is far from a happy camper. Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who has read/commented on this story so far. You guys are the reason I keep writing. I know I promised two chapters a week, and I'm going to try to stick to that, but it may slow down a little. I've got a bit of writer's block right now. I'm working through it, but I figured I should give you guys a heads up. And in case you're worried, I will not abandon this story unless something absolutely horrible happens, like a death in the family or something. I hate it when writers do that, and you guys are taking such a big risk by reading a story that isn't marked as completed, so I want you to know that I won't leave you high and dry. Again, thanks for reading, and I hope to hear from you!


	11. Fate has a Sense of Humor

A/N This is an important chapter, and I hope you all enjoy it. I wrote it a week or two ago, so let me know if you catch any mistakes!

"I'll do it. Get me a communicator." As Jim said the words, he prayed that Spock would forgive him for what he was about to do. The Vulcan would understand—he always did—of course, but that didn't do much to lessen the guilt that felt like lead in his chest.

Evidently, Teanar had not expected Jim to give in so easily, as the Reskarain was silent for several moments, blinking slowly at him. Jim was about to repeat his demand when Teanar seemed to jump back to life, straightening his back and smiling so wide that Jim thought his face might split in two.

"Of course, Captain! Eson, get the communication device that we confiscated from our guests." The Reskarian was practically shivering with excitement as his aide left the room. "I must say, Captain Kirk, you are far more reasonable than I believed you to be. But, I suppose when there's an opportunity to pin this little situation on someone else, you would have to be exceptionally foolish not to take it."

Jim forced a smile onto his face, his eyes reluctantly leaving Spock's face—it was carefully empty, but Jim knew the Vulcan well enough to read the barely-concealed pain there—and turning to Teanar. "Part of a captain's training is learning when to accept the inevitable, High Councilor." And what he had to do _was_ inevitable; he had known that for a while now.

"Of course. Starfleet is wise to instill such a trait in its officers." Teanar's smile was sickening, but Jim did his best to keep his revulsion from showing. The Reskarian had already proven how fickle he could be—Jim wasn't going to tempt fate by purposely antagonizing him.

After a few more moments, Eson returned, holding one of their confiscated communicators in hand, along with what appeared to be a signal amplification device. Teanar took it from the man, who quickly bowed before scurrying away to the other side of the room.

"Here you are, Captain. You may contact your ship. But remember, your First Officer's life is in my hands."

Jim took the communicator with a sharp nod. He knew only too well the consequences of his actions. Taking a deep breath, he flipped the communicator open and spoke, keeping his voice as level and calm as possible. "Kirk to Enterprise. Come in Enterprise, this is Captain Kirk."

For a few moments, there was silence, and then,

"Scotty here, Captain. Can ye speak up a little? We're havin' trouble reading you."

"Sorry about that, Scotty. It was a real Situation Orange for a moment there, but we've got it covered," Jim said, praying that his Chief Engineer would understand his intention—and that Teanar wouldn't.

There was a pause for a moment, and Jim began to worry that his plan would fall apart. He barely refrained from letting out a sigh of relief when Scotty's voice returned. "I hear ye, Captain. You've been gone for some time now."

Jim glanced up at Teanar, who had fixed him with an unblinking stare. He had to make the Reskarian believe he was following his orders. "Well, I didn't mean to worry you. Spock and I got sick right before the signing ceremony, and the Reskarians have been taking care of us. We're alright now, but neither of us are fit for duty. Reskar is still due a signing, however, so I am naming you Acting Captain of the Enterprise, Mr. Scott. You are now in control of the Reskarian situation."

"Aye. I'll inform Starfleet of the change," Scotty responded smoothly, as if Jim hadn't just laid an enormous weight on his shoulders. "When is the signing set to take place?"

Jim looked over at Teanar and shrugged, doing his best to appear nonchalant. He had to resist the urge to flinch away as the Reskarian moved to stand behind his shoulder, leaning close enough for Jim to smell the High Councilor's overly-sweet perfume. "Acting Captain Scott, this is High Councilor Teanar of Reskar. The signing will occur at 09:00 planet-time tomorrow. The coordinates will be sent to your ship shortly."

"Understood. Captain, is there anything else I should include in my report to Starfleet?" Scotty asked, and Jim knew what the man was hoping for. Situation Orange meant that Scotty had to get the Enterprise away from Reskar and only return if he was supported by at least three other Federation ships. Considering their position at the fringe of Federation space, it would take at least three weeks to get the ships he needed. Three weeks that he and Spock likely didn't have.

"Just let the brass know not to worry about me and Commander Spock." Jim's stomach was doing somersaults, and it was all he could do to keep his words even as he sealed their fates. "We're in good hands. Kirk out." He flipped the communicator closed before he had a chance to second-guess his actions, the click seeming to reverberate like a death knell in his soul.

"There, Teanar; you heard it. Mr. Scott will beam down tomorrow and sign your agreement. Now let me help my First Officer!"

Teanar's grin widened even further, a feat that shouldn't have been anatomically possible. "Of course, Kirk." He waved his hand, and the man in the back of the room, the one who had tortured both him and Spock, began to unlock the shackles that secured his First Officer's feet. Once that was done, he unlocked the ones around his wrists. When the final one clicked open, Spock swayed dangerously, and Jim rushed forward to support the Vulcan.

"I'm so sorry, Spock. Stars, I'm sorry," Jim whispered as he carefully maneuvered one of Spock's arms over his shoulder. The movement was no doubt painful—the wounds on his upper arms looked deep, deeper than any that Jim himself had suffered—but the Vulcan didn't let out a single sound. With his other hand, Jim slipped off the blindfold that covered Spock's eyes. Instead of sparkling in that intelligent way they always seemed to, they were glazed and distant, and the worry in Jim's gut grew.

"Eson, take Kirk and Spock back to their accommodations. And see to it that they are given medical supplies," Teanar ordered. Now that the deal had been struck, his words were bouncy and full of energy. No doubt the man was already planning what he would do with his new prosperity and position, but Jim found that he didn't have the energy to care.

The aide nodded quickly. "Of course, High Councilor," he squeaked out, arm shaking as he preformed the sweeping gesture of respect before bowing again and hurrying out the door. Jim glared at Teanar for a split second longer before following the young Reskarian out.

The walk back to their cell was slow and nearly silent. At first, Spock had attempted to move under his own power, but Jim refused to release him. By the time they had turned into the long stone tunnel that led to their cell, Jim was nearly carrying the Vulcan. Spock's weight put strain on Jim's own wounds, but he ignored the pain as he shifted to allow the Vulcan more support.

When they finally reached the door to their cell, Eson pulled out a small circular device and placed it on the door. There was a soft click. Then, the Reskarian pushed on the metal surface, and it swung open. Once again, the thought of overpowering the frail Reskarian pushed its way into Jim's mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Spock was in no state to go anywhere, and there was no way Jim was going to leave him.

"Captain," Eson said, his voice hardly louder than a whisper, "I—I am sorry for your commander's pain. I will see to it that medical supplies are brought within the hour." He paused, looking as if he wanted to say something else but was too scared to. After a long moment, he shook his head vigorously. "Please, continue to obey the High Councilor's wishes so that you are not harmed further." If the words had come from someone else, Jim might have considered them threatening, but this Reskarian said them in a tone that could only be described as pleading.

"I can't promise that, not if your High Councilor continues to make such unreasonable demands." Jim looked up into Eson's expressive eyes. They held fear and concern, and even a trace of anger, things he hadn't seen in the gazes of anyone else on this forsaken planet. After a moment of hesitation, Jim decided that there really wasn't a way for their situation to get much worse, so he took a leap of faith and decided to trust the feeling in his gut that told him that this Reskarian had a good heart.

"Your dedication to your High Councilor is admirable, but you need to understand that he does not have the interests of your planet or your people in mind. This agreement of his will tear Reskar apart. I don't think you want that to happen. I think you care about the people. You probably have a family; is this what you want for them?" Jim asked, holding the fidgeting Reskarian's gaze with his own.

It was several seconds before Eson responded, and Jim knew that the young man was considering his words, even as he shook his head. "I truly am sorry, Captain. Now, please, enter the cell."

Jim held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding slowly. Carefully, he shifted Spock's weight—the Vulcan was nearly immobile now—and stepped into the cell. A moment later, the door closed behind him, and the room turned to darkness.

Gently maneuvering Spock, Jim laid the Vulcan on his stomach on the pile of their bedrolls that he had made earlier. Then, he crossed to the middle of the room and turned the light up to thirty percent brightness. When he turned back around to face Spock, he nearly choked.

He had seen Spock's back wounds briefly when he had been supporting the Vulcan on the walk to their cell, but he hadn't truly comprehended their severity. Now, he could. Green blood covered almost every centimeter of his back, disrupted only by darker green lines where the whip had broken the skin. For several moments, all Jim could do was stare in absolute horror. Then, Spock shifted slightly, a low groan of pain escaping as he did so.

In an instant, Jim was kneeling at Spock's side. "Spock." He didn't know what to say, or what to do. Without the medical supplies he had been promised, his ability to help Spock was limited to just about nothing, but he still felt like he should do _something_. The Vulcan moved again, struggling to sit up, and Jim put out a hand to gently force him back down.

"Don't move, Spock. You'll make it worse. Once Eson gets us the medical supplies I was promised, I can work on binding the wounds on your back and shoulder, but for now you need to stay still," he admonished, trying his absolute hardest to keep the fear from his voice. Now that he was closer, he noticed places on Spock's back where he could see the white of a bone through all of the torn flesh, and if Teanar had been standing in the room with him, he likely would have torn the man apart, regardless of the consequences.

"Capt—ain," Spock coughed, still struggling to rise.

Jim shook his head, even as he gently pushed the Vulcan down once more. "Not anymore. Scotty's got that title now, and I'm afraid you don't hold the position of First Officer either. Sorry about that." He said the words lightly, but there was lead in his chest, and tears were pricking at the edges of his eyes. Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore, and he let out a strangled sob.

"Stars, Spock. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry," he choked out before taking a deep breath, trying in vain to rein in his emotions. This was not what his friend needed right now. Spock needed calmness and logic and all of the things that Jim wasn't. He took another deep breath and smiled like his life depended on it. "Human emotions. Messy things, right?" There was no response, and Jim couldn't bring himself to look down at Spock's face to see the pain there. "Go to sleep, Spock. I'll wake you up when the supplies are here. Please."

Spock still didn't respond, but Jim felt a shift in the air, and he allowed some of the tension in his chest to disappear. He couldn't focus on the past right now, the things he should have done differently. Right now, he needed to be in the present.

. . .

Spock's mind was a haze of pain and confusion. Where there was typically order and peace, there was chaos. In a detached sort of way, Spock knew that he was in an incredible amount of pain, far more than he had experienced within his recent memory. He also knew that he was lying down on something soft and that there was someone kneeling beside him. He vaguely remembered the person saying something to him, but his mind was too far gone to recall exactly what.

If Spock had been more aware, he might have been terrified by his present state. He had no control over his thoughts or emotions anymore, but it was as if he was viewing it all from behind a glass wall, like some kind of abnormal exhibit in a zoo or aquarium. Some part of him knew that this state was dangerous and that he should attempt to take some sort of action that could correct it, but he found that he had trouble caring. Why should he, when this state was free of all feeling?

Then, he heard a voice.

"Spock? Spock, wake up. I have the supplies now, but I don't know enough about Vulcans to do this on my own. I need your help. Spock?"

It was as if he were hearing the voice from underwater. It sounded familiar somehow, but distorted. Still, even in this floating state of nothingness, Spock knew that the voice was important. Somehow, he knew that he would do whatever that voice asked, and so Spock stepped through the glass and into the chaos, fighting toward awareness with every step.

. . .

Panic began to seize Jim as he looked down at Spock's unmoving form. The Vulcan had fallen asleep about forty minutes earlier, and Jim had counted it as a blessing. Then, Eson had arrived with a box full of bandages and several different medicines as well as three pitchers of water and other supplies. Jim had spent a few minutes preparing the supplies as best he could before trying to wake Spock. But the Vulcan hadn't stirred.

"Spock?" Jim tried again, praying to whoever was listening that the Vulcan would open his eyes. "Spock, I need you to wake up. If I have to do this on my own, I might do more harm than good. I don't want to hurt you." Reaching out, Jim placed a hesitant hand on Spock's lower arm, one of the few undamaged spots on his upper body.

As soon as his hand made contact with Spock's skin, the Vulcan's eyes flew open, and he recoiled sharply from the touch, causing Jim to yank back his hand and look down, a blush of shame spreading across his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invade your privacy or anything. I just needed you to wake up," he said, glancing back at Spock's face. The brown eyes looked up at him, and this time, Jim couldn't even begin to decipher what he saw there.

Spock remained silent until he had pushed himself into a sitting position. Jim wanted to reach out and help him, but he held back. Finally, Spock was sitting up, his back straight despite his injuries, and a carefully blank look on his face.

"Captain. I apologize if I caused you distress," he said, and the empty sound made Jim want to sob.

"Spock, you don't need to apologize," Jim said incredulously, worry rushing into the cavity of his chest. If Spock drew away from him like this, there was no way Jim would be able to survive. Not on his own. So he smiled slightly and tried to inject some cheer into his voice, anything that would draw a reaction from his friend. "Besides, Scotty's the captain now."

"Of course," Spock responded in the same empty tone, his gaze fixed on some point past Jim as he nodded.

For a few moments, Jim wanted to reach out to the Vulcan again, to make sure that this was actually Spock and not some robotic look-alike, but then his eyes fell on the green blood that covered his shoulders, and he was reminded just how real this was.

"Eson brought the supplies we need, but I don't want to screw this up, so I need you to help me. I'm going to start with cleaning your back since that's the worst area. It's probably going to hurt, so I'm sorry." As he spoke, Jim grabbed one of the pitchers of water and a rag. He started to move behind Spock, but he stopped as he realized the awkward position the Vulcan was about to be in. "Are you sure you don't want to lie down?"

"I would prefer to remain sitting." The response was clipped, and all of a sudden, Jim realized what was going on. The stubborn Vulcan was trying to retain his sense of propriety and dignity, despite his pain. Jim wanted to argue with him, tell him that he would be more comfortable lying down, that he didn't have to act like he was okay, but he knew that this was Spock's way of exerting control over the situation, the same way Jim did with his smiles and poor attempts at humor.

"Of course, Mr. Spock."

Over the next ten minutes, Jim painstakingly cleaned Spock's back, turning four white rags green in the process. His actions had to be hurting Spock, he knew, but the Vulcan didn't so much as flinch as he worked. Finally, he finished, and moved to grab the medicines that Eson had delivered.

The Reskarian hed explained the function of each of them, and Jim was fairly confident that he knew what to do, but he was terrified of screwing up and causing Spock more pain. So, he carefully repeated each medicine's function to the Vulcan and followed his instructions as he applied them.

As he worked, smearing cream over the whip-marks, Jim had to consciously focus on controlling his rage. Spock had been lashed over sixty times. He had endured over sixty strikes that should have been aimed at Jim. He had—

All of a sudden, Spock jerked away from Jim's touch, interrupting Jim's thoughts. "I'm sorry, Spock. I know this has to hurt," he quickly apologized, drawing back.

To Jim's surprise, Spock shook his head and turned slightly so that he could look at Jim over his shoulder. "It is not the pain."

"Then what is it?"

"The stress on my pain receptors has weakened my mental shields. As such, I am unable to fully control my touch-telepathy, and you are projecting your thoughts quite loudly, Jim. I do not wish to intrude upon them," Spock explained, his voice remarkably gentle considering the amount of pain he had to be in for it to have that kind of an effect on his shields.

"Oh. Sorry about that," Jim resisted the urge to scratch the back of his head. "Is there a way that I can stop projecting?"

"There are techniques taught on Vulcan to help shield one's thoughts, but there is little that I could teach you now. Thoughts fueled by emotion are difficult to shield without training."

"Oh," Jim repeated. "Well, I'm almost done. You shouldn't have to be bothered by them for much longer." Jim dipped two fingers back into the jar of paste and was about to start again, but Spock's voice stopped him.

"That is not what I meant, Jim. I do not wish to intrude upon your mind, but as my ability to shield myself is currently unavailable to me, I cannot help but see your thoughts. As such, I cannot ask you to continue."

"Spock, you aren't intruding! I'm the one projecting, and I'm not going to stop helping you because of it." A sudden wave of embarrassment washed over him. "Just, ah, try not to judge me too much on my human emotions." Spock only nodded in response before turning away once more, and Jim continued his work in silence, doing his best to keep his mind quiet.

An hour later, Jim had cleaned, medicated, and bandaged all of Spock's wounds. A few times, Spock had drawn away when Jim's thoughts had gotten too loud, and Jim had done his best to reign them in before continuing his work. Once he was finished, he moved out of Spock's personal space and leaned back, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension there.

"Your use of the Situation Orange Protocol was well-executed. I do not believe that the High Councilor is suspicious in any way of your discussion with Mr. Scott," Spock said after a few moments.

The lead in Jim's chest returned. "For a few seconds there I thought that Scotty might not remember what it meant," he admitted. "It's not exactly a protocol that captains use very often."

"Indeed. Ordering a quarantine of a planet while the captain is still on the surface is quite rare. To my knowledge, it had only occurred twice in Starfleet history."

Jim swallowed dryly. "And did either of those captains survive?"

"They did not."

Of course they hadn't. In his heart, Jim had already known that. He had known that before he had ordered the Enterprise away. He had known that he was sealing his fate...and Spock's. And Spock knew it too.

"I'm sorry, Spock. I just couldn't risk Teanar trapping anymore of our people down here." Jim couldn't meet Spock's eye, because even as he spoke, he knew that Spock would forgive him, and Jim wasn't worthy of it.

"You made the logical—and correct—decision, Jim. In these circumstances, there was no alternative." Somehow, Spock's voice was calm, reassuring even. "And despite those circumstances, I am proud to serve by your side."

Jim blinked away the tears gathering in his eyes. "It's not over yet, Spock," he said, a watery smile on his lips. "Now go to sleep. You're going to need your strength when we bust out of here."

Spock raised an eyebrow, but obeyed the order, laying down once more and closing his eyes. After a few minutes, Jim saw his breathing settle into a slower, steady rhythm. As Jim leaned against the wall, a strange feeling settled into his gut. It was a volatile mixture of sorrow and guilt and pain and anger and something else.

The something else seemed out of place among the rest of his jumbled emotions. This was something warm, like the glow of a fireplace in the winter. It was familiar somehow, but it felt wrong in the situation. What on earth would make him feel like this while sitting on death row?

Then his eyes fell on the sleeping Vulcan across the room, and all of a sudden, Jim knew. He felt his mind clear, and it was as if someone had whispered the secrets of the universe in his ear.

He, James Tiberius Kirk, former captain of the USS Enterprise, was in love with Spock.

Jim could have laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation. He had just sentenced both of them to death, and _now_ he realized he was in love with his First Officer. The universe had a twisted sense of humor. Still, the knowledge made so much sense that Jim couldn't deny it. It was strange; he knew the revelation was nearly earth-shattering, but at the same time, it felt as if he had always known. It really was too bad he'd never get a chance to act on it.

A/N So...Jim is not as much as a blind idiot as you might have thought. What will he do with this newfound knowledge, I wonder? Or will he do anything at all? Well, it's a slow burn, so I guess that answers that. ;) Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing so far; it really makes my day when I hear from you. I'm sorry that I can't respond to guest comments, but I do read them, and I really do appreciate them!


	12. Hopeful

A/N Wow, I feel like I've done a pretty good job of updating this week. Go me! Anyway, I hope you like the chapter!

It was rare for Spock to dream. Most of the time, he meditated instead of truly sleeping, and when he did sleep, his rest was typically clear of other thoughts. It was something that he had discovered when he was young, and it had caused his mother grief, although he had considered it to be quite advantageous. But every now and then, Spock would dream. He was what the Terrans called a 'lucid dreamer', as he was always aware of the fact that he was dreaming and could often alter the situation of his dream if he so desired.

Spock was dreaming now.

It was light in his dream, a warm red light that reminded him of a Vulcan sunrise. Once he had established that, he turned to survey his surroundings. After a brief moment, it became evident that his dream was, in fact, occurring on Vulcan, as the red sand of his homeworld shifted under his feet.

He was in the middle of a desert, a place that should have been familiar to him but was just different enough from his memory that he couldn't place it. The large sand dunes were beginning to cast shadows as the sun climbed higher in the sky, its journey too quick to be real. After a moment, a wind began to blow, and as Spock watched, the sand in front of his feet was blown away to reveal a stone path.

For a moment, Spock considered waking himself from the dream. In some part of his consciousness, he could feel the pain that still wracked his body. If he were awake, he could begin the process of meditation that would lessen the pain and speed the healing process. Instead, he began to follow the path in front of him.

As more and more of the stone was revealed, Spock found himself walking deeper into the desert. Time in his dream was evidently fickle, obeying none of its natural laws, for the sun rose too quickly for a time, but once reaching its zenith, it hung unmoving in the sky. Thus, it was difficult to judge the length of his journey, but after what felt simultaneously like both seconds and hours, Spock began to see a familiar silhouette in the distance.

Picking up his pace, Spock strode toward the structure in the middle of the desert, now recognizing it for what it was. The place where he had killed his captain.

Even as he walked toward the ring of stones, Spock wondered why he was indulging this dream. It was illogical to return to a place that held such powerful emotions for him, especially considering the weak state of his mental shields at present.

He stepped through the ring and into the sandy center, striding up to the gong without hesitation. He had broken it in his fight with the captain, with Jim. Now, it lay cracked in the center of the circle, a broken relic of the past, a small part of a broken ritual. He had for all intents and purposes, killed Jim that day under the Vulcan sun. T'Pring had manipulated the kal-if-fee in choosing Jim as her champion, and the man had accepted, not knowing that the challenge was to the death.

Stepping off the central dais, he moved slowly toward the place where he and Jim had fought their final fight. The sand there was disturbed just as it had been that day, nearly two years ago now. Kneeling, Spock placed his hand into the indention where Jim had laid, and all at once, the emotions of that day came crashing over him, bursting through the mental barrier he had erected as if it were made of paper.

He had harmed his captain. Without Doctor McCoy's ingenious use of a hypospray, he would have killed Jim; he had been too deep in the Plak Tow to stop himself. The instant he had believed Jim to be dead, it had all vanished. The Plak Tow, his desire for T'Pring, his rage, all of it. All except the guilt.

Standing suddenly, Spock walked back to the center of the site, forcing his emotions down as he did so. He had no place for them, especially not now. Not when he and his captain were stranded on a hostile planet, both suffering from major wounds and destined for execution as soon as the Reskarians ran out of patience. No, he needed to be calm and collected. Emotion would do him no good now when his captain's life was on the line. He needed to be focused, he needed to—

A distant sound echoed through his mind, as though he were hearing it from underwater, and in an instant, the dream shattered and Spock's eyes snapped open to the dim interior of their cell.

Across the room from him was his captain. The man was attempting to change the bandages that covered his stomach wounds but was having difficulty due to the pain the actions caused his arms, which also appeared to be recently bandaged. Spock stood—now that he was standing he realized that he had actually been resting on both his and Jim's bedrolls, a fact he filed away for later consideration—and stepped across the room to kneel at Jim's side.

"Ah, you're awake, Spock," Jim said, smiling brilliantly. The expression was somewhat forced, but Spock didn't comment on it, choosing instead to focus his attention on the pain in Jim's eyes.

"You should have woken me sooner. I would have been able to change your bandages much more efficiently," he said, taking the roll of cloth from the man as he spoke.

Jim's smile faded. "You're in worse shape than me; I wasn't going to disturb your rest if I could help it, although it seems that I've failed at that." He glanced down, and Spock knew that there was guilt shining in his eyes now. It was unnecessary, and they both knew it, so Spock let it go, instead saying,

"You did not disturb my sleep. I had intended to wake soon anyway." And he had. Staying in that dream any longer would have been illogical and possibly harmful to his emotional control. "Please, allow me."

Spock had expected the man to give in to his request readily, but instead, Jim hesitated. "You aren't still having problems with your mind shields or anything, are you? I don't want to bombard your mind with my thoughts again."

Jim ducked his head again, making Spock wonder if there was a reason he was particularly averse to him seeing the inside of his mind. It was likely that Jim believed that his emotions were distasteful to Spock, although nothing could be further from the truth. Still, his reasons for not wanting an accidental bond between them did not matter. Spock would not allow a bond to form when Jim did not want one.

"My mental shields are strong enough for this," he reassured his captain, catching the man's eyes with his own. "I will not intrude upon your thoughts, and I will be able to prevent your thoughts from entering mine."

Jim hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright, Spock. Try not to use too many bandages though. I have a feeling Teanar won't be giving us any more."

Spock nodded in acknowledgment and began the work of replacing the bandages around his captain's torso. The torn fabric of his own robe had been completely soaked through with blood, although it had mostly dried, telling Spock that the bleeding had mostly stopped, although the chance for infection was still high.

"The Okko powder appears to have impacted your cellular regrowth around the wounds. It would be prudent to apply one of the medicines that was brought in order to prevent infection," Spock said, halting his work.

Once again, Jim looked away, not meeting Spock's eyes. "I'm fine, Spock. They're shallow cuts, and with the bandages, they shouldn't cause much trouble. Besides, we should save as much of our supplies as we can."

"Jim, if these wounds become infected they could cause damage to your deeper dermal layers or bones should it become too severe."

A soft sigh escaped Jim's lips. "You're right, Spock, of course. The medicines are in that box next to the light. The small blue container has the antiseptic. Eson said you only need a small amount per wound."

By the time Jim was finished speaking, Spock had reached the supplies and removed the container that the man had indicated. Once he was kneeling in front of Jim again, he dipped one finger in the paste and began to smear it over the wounds, careful to conserve as much of it as possible while still providing Jim with adequate treatment.

"Once, this kind of medicine was considered extraordinary," Jim mused as Spock shifted to his other side. "Now, we have technology that can heal wounds like this in just a few seconds. Reskar could have had the same technology if not for the blind ambition of its leader."

"It is possible that Reskar does in fact have dermal regenerators. The High Councilor may simply be withholding the technology from us. It is also possible that it would not work on non-Reskarians," Spock replied.

"You're right, of course. Teanar would probably take pleasure in withholding something like that from us, especially when he knows that we have that kind of technology too." Jim shook his head. "Still, I can't believe that Teanar doesn't see the amount of damage that his little trade deal is going to cause his planet. The man is a heartless scumbag, but I don't believe that he would allow his planet to be destroyed just so he could make some cash."

"There is likely something blinding the High Councilor's judgment. He is making a highly illogical decision, yet his rise to power was well-planned and well-executed. Someone has convinced him that this deal will be of great benefit to him and his planet, regardless of your efforts to persuade him otherwise."

"The Klingons." There was venom in Jim's voice, and Spock knew he was recalling all of the damage that the warlike race had caused. "Somehow, the Klingons must have made contact with Teanar without the Federation knowing. They're the ones who would gain the most from the trade agreement. Hostilities over Reskar would likely spill out to neighboring systems and become a full-scale war between the Federation and the Klingons."

"Indeed." Spock replaced the lid of the container and set it to the side before picking up the bandages. "Many of the Klingons have been calling for war against the Federation for the past ten years. In the past, the Federation has been able to settle any matters before they became true galactic incidents, but it is unlikely that they would be able to do the same here."

Jim let out a soft hiss as Spock tightened and secured the first bandage. "I guess it's a good thing that that agreement won't be signed then," he said through clenched teeth.

Spock bowed his head in apology but continued to work. "Indeed. Although the Federation will likely lose Reskar to the Klingons, it is unlikely they will provoke war, especially since you declared the world to be quarantined until a suitable number of ships could be gathered."

"Even if they did come back, the Federation would be able to avoid a full confrontation with the Klingons as long as all they did was pick us up."

Privately, Spock doubted that the Federation would send ships back for them. The Enterprise crew would likely demand that they do, but without Jim's persuasive nature to argue the point, it was unlikely that they would be able to convince the Starfleet officials to risk the chance of intergalactic war in order to save the lives of two people. Jim knew this too, but Spock kept quiet, knowing the man needed some hope of optimism.

Once he was finished with the bandages, Spock made to stand, but Jim's hand on his arm stopped him. "Wait, Spock." There was something in Jim's eyes that Spock couldn't name, and he found it concerning. Jim was, as the Terran expression went, an open book to him. Being unable to read his expressions felt wrong—as if something was out of balance between them.

"I know you don't want to hear an apology from me, but I need to say it. If you'll just listen, I swear this will be the last time I mention it." Now the something in Jim's eyes had morphed to pain and guilt. They had no place in his eyes, but Spock nodded anyway, knowing that the guilt would eat at Jim until he had apologized, regardless of how unnecessary it was.

Jim nodded, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Spock. I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm sorry. Bones is always telling me that one of these days my recklessness is going to get me killed, and I accepted that a long time ago, wouldn't have become a captain if I didn't. But I never meant to drag anyone else into it. I never meant to drag you into it." There were tears gathering in the corners of Jim's eyes, and Spock irrationally wanted to wipe them away. "But I'm glad I'm not alone. It's unbelievably selfish of me and if I could change it I would, but I'm glad you're by my side, Spock." Jim looked away then, as his voice became too thick to speak and the tears began to fall.

For a long moment, Spock didn't know what to say. They both knew that there was nothing that Jim could have done to change their situation, but Spock understood firsthand that that knowledge did little to assuage the guilt. Finally, he reached out and placed a gentle hand on Jim's arm, causing the man to look back up at him.

"Despite our present circumstance, I find myself content here," Spock said slowly. Typically, he was able to say what he meant with little trouble, but that was not the case now. Now, he struggled to find the words to match the swirling of his mind. "I would rather be here, by your side, than on the Enterprise. It is not logical, but it is true."

Jim's eyes widened briefly, and Spock saw that same unidentified something rise in them for a moment before vanishing. "I—I—" Jim swallowed, and Spock waited patiently for the man to find his voice again. "Thank you, Spock."

Spock didn't know how to reply. He had described his actions as illogical, but that was only because he had no other way of putting his reasoning into words. As illogical as it was to desire to remain at Jim's side despite the high chance of pain and death, Spock could not begin to contemplate being anywhere else. To do so was simply wrong.

Finally, Spock gave up on the concept of words entirely and simply nodded, hoping that Jim would understand his intent. Thankfully, the man seemed to, for he smiled—a shaky smile—and nodded in reply.

"Do you need those bandages changed, Spock?" he asked, and Spock knew that the man was diverting the subject to something more physical which they could both see and understand. He allowed the change, shaking his head slightly.

"They are adequate for the time being, and as you said, it is likely that we will have further need of our meager supplies later. The High Councilor will be expecting Mr. Scott to arrive within the next twelve hours. I imagine that he will find some way of disposing of us before then."

Jim nodded gravely, the smile vanishing from his face. "If he sends Eson to fetch us, we should be able to overpower him. I haven't seen him carry any of those phasers, and it's obvious that he isn't trained for combat. If we can surprise him, we could escape the cell."

"I do not wish to diminish your optimism, Jim, but where would we go if we were to escape?" Spock asked, his voice quiet. The odds of them surviving the next twelve hours were extremely slim, even if they did manage to escape.

Evidently Jim knew this, for he let out a long sigh and leaned against the cool stone. "I don't know, Spock. I have no idea where we are or how far underground we are. I haven't seen any other people patrolling the halls when I've been taken to other rooms, but that doesn't mean they aren't there, and we're in no state to go picking fights."

Spock was about to reply when he heard a single pair of footsteps in the hallway outside their room. "Captain, there is a single pair of footsteps approaching. I believe they belong to the High Councilor's aide. He seems hurried, and I doubt that he is armed. Do you wish to attempt your strategy?"

Doubt crossed Jim's face as he met Spock's gaze before trailing his eyes further down, no doubt considering both of their wounds. After a brief moment, the doubt faded away and was replaced by grim determination. "Yes. Turn down the light to five percent and stand in the corner on the left of the door. I'll keep Eson focused on me. If you have the opportunity, take him down with your nerve-pinch. If not, well, I guess we'll improvise."

Spock nodded and quickly did as his captain had ordered, dimming the light until it was nearly pitch black in the room and stepping into the corner. Each movement sent flares of pain through his back and shoulders, but he pushed the feeling away, although he was too weak to turn it off altogether. An instant later, a soft click was heard, and the door to the cell swung open.

Both the darkness and the angle at which he was standing made it difficult for Spock to read the Reskarian's expression, but he could tell that the young man was nervous, as he was wringing his hands in front of him and glancing side to side.

"Eson! How nice of you to drop by," Jim declared as he stepped forward, and the Reskarian's eyes instantly focused on him, allowing Spock to begin to slide along the wall behind him. "I wasn't able to thank you for the supplies that you ensured were delivered earlier, so thank you." Spock was a step from the Reskarian and was about to move into position when the man spoke.

"Your thanks is appreciated, Captain Kirk, but there is no time for pleasantries. The High Councilor has ordered me to take you and your commander to the We'sina to be offered as sacrifices to the Great One." The words rushed out in a jumble of syllables that the young man clearly had little control over. "If we leave now, I will be able to get you out of the city before sunrise when the sacrifice will be completed."

A/N I feel like that was a pretty emotional chapter. Not in a dramatic way, but still. If you enjoyed it, let me know! If not, definitely let me know so I can do better for the next one! (Sometimes I feel like I kind of lose Jim and Spock's voices...) Thanks for reading!


	13. Escape!

A/N: I hope you like the chapter!

Jim met Spock's eyes and raised an eyebrow. As much as he wanted to trust Eson's words, they seemed too good to be true, especially considering their opportune timing. Spock echoed the raised eyebrow but nodded slightly, and Jim decided to trust the Vulcan's judgment.

"Do you have any proof of this, Eson? How do we know you aren't going to lead us to our deaths? I'm sure that would make your High Councilor quite happy," Jim said, taking another step forward, shoving down the pain that rose up as he did so.

The Reskarian shook his head sharply, still fidgeting with his hands. "No, I don't have any proof," he said, holding Jim's eyes despite his obvious discomfort. "All I have is my oath. I swear by my wife and daughter that I am not attempting to deceive you. But if you do not come with me now, you will be taken by Teanar and killed, and so will they as he will soon know of my betrayal."

Looking into Eson's dark eyes, Jim nodded. There was no lie in them—only determination and fear in equal parts.

"Thank you, Eson."

The man shook his head. "Do not thank me yet, Captain. There are still plenty of opportunities for your death or capture. Now, stay quiet and follow me. Keep your heads down, and do your best to look too exhausted to fight."

'That shouldn't be too hard,' Jim thought to himself as his numerous wounds reminded him of their presence once again. He didn't say the thought aloud however, choosing instead to nod. "Can we take any of the supplies?"

Eson glanced behind his shoulder, eyes darting to the hallway before looking back at Jim. He hesitated, and Jim could tell that the man wanted to say no, but he nodded shortly. "Whatever you can hide in your boots. Quickly!"

As one, Jim and Spock hurried to the center of the small room and began to fill their boots with as much of the meager supplies as they could. Between them, they managed to grab all of the bandages and most of the medicines, although they had to leave the bedrolls and blankets behind. Jim was shoving one last vial into his boot when Eson spoke up.

"You must leave the rest. It is time to go."

Jim exchanged another glance with Spock. The Vulcan was clearly weary and in pain, and Jim doubted that he would be able to make it very far on his own, regardless of his earlier assurances that he was fine, but there was a glimmer of something that Jim wanted to call hope in his eyes. If Spock had hope that they would make it, then Jim had no reason to doubt.

"Alright. Lead the way."

. . .

They walked through stone hallways for what felt like hours. Every twist and turn confused Jim's mind further, and before long, he had completely lost all sense of direction. The pessimistic part of his brain whispered that Eson was leading them into a trap, that he was simply ensuring that they would be too lost to have any hope of escape. He pushed those thoughts away, though. He had decided to trust Eson, and if that was the wrong choice, well, he would deal with that when it came.

After a few more turns, Jim noticed the slope of the floor begin to increase, and he allowed some small bubble of hope to rise in his chest. He might see the sky again, might see the stars! He was so caught up in his quiet joy that he didn't notice when Spock stumbled until the Vulcan was crashing into Jim, nearly throwing him to the ground with his weight.

Jim quickly stabilized himself and Spock, doing his best to avoid touching the wounds on Spock's shoulders and back. The bandages there were stained green, and Jim cursed himself for not insisting that they change them earlier. It was too late for that, though, and they didn't have time to address it now.

"The commander needs rest, Eson," Jim said as he leaned Spock against the nearest wall. The Vulcan's chest was heaving, and his eyes seemed to have difficulty focusing. Spock was in worse shape than Jim had thought, mentally kicking himself as he came to the realization. He had seen Spock's wounds; he should have known better than to believe the Vulcan's assurances!

"We cannot stop now, Captain," Eson said, gazing at them with a heavy expression in his eyes. "If the commander cannot continue, he will have to be left behind."

"Not happening," Jim responded instantly, shifting Spock's heavy limbs so that Jim could better support him. The Vulcan raised his head at the movement and blinked slowly, obviously attempting to regain his senses. An instant later, Jim felt Spock stiffen in his arms and attempt to remove himself from Jim's grip, but Jim refused to let him go.

"Just do what you can, Spock," Jim whispered, his mouth only a dozen centimeters from Spock's ear. "I'm not leaving you here, and you're in no state to walk on your own." Spock remained frozen for another moment before nodding almost imperceptibly. Jim, in turn, nodded to Eson, and they began to move once more.

The incline increased as they walked, which made supporting Spock even harder than it had been on the fairly even ground. Nevertheless, Jim pushed through the pain that was screaming in his torso and arms, determined not to let something as stupid as a hill stop him from getting Spock out of this starless pit.

After another fifteen agonizing minutes, The ground leveled out once more, and Eson held out a hand, causing Jim to stop, Spock's head resting heavily on his shoulder. The Vulcan was drifting on the edge of unconsciousness. "There are several guards up ahead. They will not stop us unless you do something suspicious, so please, keep your heads down and follow my lead. They will not question my authority."

Jim was too exhausted to answer aloud, so he settled for a nod and prayed that the young Reskarian was right. Then, he shifted Spock's weight once again and began to walk once more.

A minute or two later, they turned a corner, and Jim was met with the beautiful sight of a gleaming turbolift, one that likely led straight to the surface, to the sky. Unfortunately, there were three Reskarian guards seated at a table in front of the lift playing some sort of game involving several sets of multi-faceted dice. The largest one of the group—a Reskarian that appeared to be at least twice Eson's weight—was the first to spot them and stood from the table with one hand at the phaser on his belt.

"And who do we have here, little Eson? Has the High Councilor finally decided to let you out of this little pit?" the man asked with a laugh. "And who do you have with you—the prisoners from Starfleet?"

"Indeed, Yrice. However, my doings and the High Councilor's doings are of no concern to you. You would do well to remember your place." Eson was confident as he spoke, his shoulders squaring and his gaze not moving from the large Reskarian's face. Still, Jim could see the tension in his shoulders and in the way his hands clasped too tightly behind his back.

The large guard, Yrice, stepped forward until he was less than a third of a meter away from Eson. "I know my place, young one. I am one of the chosen to initiate the High Councilor's rise to power! I am one of those who participated in the glorious cleansing! You are nothing compared to me."

One of the other guards stood and moved to place a hand on Yrice's shoulder, but Eson beat him to it. "I am your superior, Yrice. You were chosen because of your strength but also for your expendability. If you were caught, the High Councilor's plans could have continued without interruption," he stepped forward, closing the small gap between them even more, "However, if I were to be harmed in any way, the High Councilor would be most displeased." Jim kept his head down, but he could tell by the other Reskarian's shifting feet that Yrice had picked up on the threat in Eson's tone.

"I am currently fulfilling a task of utmost importance to the High Councilor in transporting the prisoners. If you insist on obstructing my duty, I will have to contact the High Councilor and report your insubordination," Eson stated cooly, and Jim had to fight to keep the grin from his face. "Is that what you want?"

For a long moment, the guard didn't move. Then, Jim felt the charged air around them lessen a little, and he stepped back, although he kept his hand resting on the phaser at his belt. "I desire no such thing. Honor to you, Eson," Yrice forced out, and from the corner of Jim's eye, he saw the man perform the customary sweeping gesture. Eson did not return it, instead striding past the guard and his friends and entering the turbolift without another glance toward Yrice. Jim followed, keeping his head down and ignoring the stares that lingered far too long on him and Spock.

Once the metal doors of the lift hissed shut, Jim heard Eson let out a long exhale. He considered giving the Reskarian a pat on the shoulder, but his arms were occupied with supporting Spock, as the Vulcan was now barely able to stand on his feet. "Hold on, Spock," he whispered, squeezing the man's lower arm in an attempt to provide some sort of comfort or relief. Spock gave no response, his glazed eyes fixed on some point past Jim's shoulder.

"We have exited the compound," Eson said once the lift began to move. "There is a private car waiting on the street, and with it, I can take you as far as the edge of the city. After that, you and your commander are on your own, Captain. I have done all that I can."

"Understood," Jim nodded, then hesitated. He wanted to ask what Eson would do once they were gone. Would he return to Teanar with some explanation? Would he go into hiding? What would happen to his family?

As if the Reskarian could sense Jim's thoughts, he said, "I will take my family and retreat into the underground. I have friends who will smuggle us out of the city. I am sorry that I cannot bring you as well, but I have already sentenced my family to death for doing this much," he looked down as he spoke, but his shoulders were squared, and Jim knew that the man had thought long and hard about his actions.

"You've done more than I ever could have hoped for, Eson. I pray that you and your family will be able to escape the madness that Teanar is trying to bring to this planet."

"As do I, Captain Kirk. As do I."

A moment later, the turbolift doors slid open, and Eson stepped through, his face once more a mask of confidence. Jim followed behind, nearly carrying Spock now. A burst of pain shot through him as the Vulcan unconsciously shifted his weight onto one of Jim's deeper cuts, but the feeling was quickly smothered when Jim looked up and saw the sky.

It was nighttime, and the stars were brilliant in their glow. If Jim remembered his readings correctly, Reskar had one moon, but it seemed to be missing from the sky, allowing the stars to shine even more intensely. For a moment, all Jim could do was stare up at them, lost in their endless beauty. Then Spock shifted again, and Jim was brought crashing back to the reality of the present.

Hurrying to catch up, Jim awkwardly half-supported-half-carried Spock to the street where Eson was waiting. The lift had deposited them at the edge of a large cobblestone courtyard ringed with those tall trees Spock had found so fascinating on three sides, the street on the fourth. In the darkness, Jim couldn't make out many details, although he could tell that the space was adorned with many different sculptures and water features. It was likely that this was a portion of Teanar's estate.

Shaking his head to clear it, Jim focused once more on the street in front of him. A vehicle was parked there, and although Jim wasn't familiar with the slim design, he recognized it as their means of escape. As he made his way over to it, he saw Eson lean over and a glass portion of the vehicle slid down, revealing a dim interior. The Reskarian began to speak with whoever was inside the car, but by the time Jim came within hearing range, the conversation was nearly over.

"—make sure that no one disturbs the ritual," Eson was saying when Jim finally reached his side. "The High Councilor will have his own means of transportation. All others must be kept away from the site. Do you understand me?"

A muffled voice from inside the car responded, "Yes, my lord."

"Very good. You may report to your new station now."

As soon as Eson finished speaking, one of the doors opened, and a Reskarian who appeared even younger than Eson stepped out of the car. He swept his arm out in respect to Eson and then turned on his heel and strode across the dark street, where a large building stood. Jim followed the man with his eyes, but before long, he was swallowed up in the darkness.

"Get in the car, Captain," Eson ordered, the confidence draining from his voice, replaced by the nervousness that Jim had come to recognize as the young man's usual state. "We do not have much time."

Jim obeyed, opening the door with one hand while balancing Spock with the other. Then, he hesitated for a moment before pushing his reservations to the back of his mind and picking Spock up in his arms. The Vulcan was heavy, but Jim barely registered the weight as he placed the Vulcan in the car, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the frame. Once Spock was situated, Jim crawled in after him and closed the door.

One of the doors in the front of the vehicle opened, and Eson climbed in. "You must stay low as we drive, Captain. The High Councilor has instituted several roadside checks on the Edge of the city, and you must not be seen."

Jim nodded, before realizing that the Reskarian couldn't see him. "Understood."

For a moment, there was silence, and Jim could feel that Eson wanted to say something, but eventually, he watched the Reskarian shake his head, and the vehicle began to move.

Once they were underway, Jim turned his attention to Spock and allowed his worry to rise to the surface. The interior of the car had no lighting save for the light in the very front where Eson was, but even in the dimness, Jim could see the green stained bandages that seemed to cover his friend's body. Knowing Spock wouldn't be able to move very quickly on their own if they should run into trouble, Jim slid off of his seat until he was kneeling on the floor and carefully maneuvered his friend until he was lying on his torso across the seats.

As he moved the Vulcan, Spock let out a quiet moan that pierced Jim's heart. "Hey, Spock, I'm here. Eson's taking us out of the city, but you need to stay down and stay quiet. Can you do that?"

There was no response for several moments, and Jim felt panic begin to seize him. He knew Spock was in bad shape, but for the Vulcan to be completely unaware like this...It wasn't normal.

The look in Spock's eyes was almost more concerning.

Jim was used to seeing a glimmer in Spock's eyes, even when the man was concealing his emotions behind that blank mask that he often wore. He always saw something, even if he couldn't always identify what it was. Now, his eyes were glazed and empty. They were open but sightless.

"Spock…" Jim's words faded away, and he bowed his head, resting his forehead against the bare skin of Spock's lower arm. The skin, usually so warm, was clammy, a thin layer of sweat coating it. It was wrong, so unlike Spock, so—

The car pitched to the side as it turned a sharp corner, causing Jim to pitch to the side. "My apologies, Captain," Eson said, glancing back briefly before focusing on the road once again.

"It's fine," Jim replied, ignoring the way his arms quivered as they attempted to hold his weight. When he did so, he found himself looking into alert brown eyes.

. . .

Spock blinked slowly, allowing his eyes time to adjust to their surroundings, which were obviously quite different from the stone halls that were the scene of his last conscious memory. Slowly, his sight focused, and he realized that he was staring into his captain's eyes. The man was kneeling in front of him, brows drawn together and lips tight in an expression of obvious concern.

"You okay, Spock?" the man asked softly. "You were unresponsive for a while there."

In an effort to establish an accurate response to his captain's query, Spock took an inventory of his body. His back and shoulders were in considerable pain, and his skin was cooler than his typical average. That, coupled with his shallow breathing and elevated heartrate allowed Spock to extrapolate what had likely occurred.

"It seems that in an effort to counteract the effects of blood loss, my body entered a healing trance. I had disregarded the symptoms as trivial, but it seems that I miscalculated," Spock finally answered in a similar whisper.

In the dim light, Spock saw Jim crack a smile, but it vanished nearly as quickly as it appeared. "What about now?" he asked. "You've been out for maybe forty-five minutes, and I know your trances take longer than that to do their job."

Spock concentrated on his bodily functions once more, analyzing them as best as he could with his hazy mind. "It seems that the trance has repaired some of the most threatening damage. I should be able to continue for another two hours, although I cannot guarantee any great efficiency during that time. My mind—"

"Get down," Eson hissed, cutting Spock off. Spock obeyed instantly, flattening himself to the seat of what was obviously a vehicle. "We are about to pass through a checkpoint. Stay silent!"

Because of his position on his stomach, Spock could not see what was occurring outside of the vehicle as it slowed to a stop, instead, he kept his eyes fixed on Jim, who looked up at him from the floor below.

After a moment, Spock heard a door open, followed by voices. "What brings you out of the city, Eson? You know the High Councilor has ordered the city closed until the trade agreement is signed." The voice was tired and gruff.

"I am aware of the restrictions on travel, however, I am doing so at the behest of the Councilor himself. You do not have a high enough clearance to know the details, however, I have a writ of passage," Eson said smoothly, and Spock heard the rustle of fabric and paper.

There was quiet for a few moments as the guard read the writ that Eson had likely handed him. "Very well, sir. You may pass through. I must remind you, however, that your return is required within three hours, or else you will be declared a deserter."

"I know the rules."

"Then I wish you safety. Honor to you."

A moment later, the door closed and the vehicle began to move once again, Spock's ears detecting a quiet sigh of relief as it did so.

. . .

A/N Hey, guys. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It might be the only one that I'm able to publish this week, as I have a very busy weekend ahead of me. School is really starting to get to me, and I'm pretty stressed right now. If I have time, I'll write something up, but if not, I might not have anything until next weekend. Sorry about that. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and commenting, it really makes my day to know that people are enjoying the little story I'm writing just as much as I'm enjoying writing it.


	14. Survival 101

A/N: What's this? A chapter? It's amazing!

Eson dropped them at the edge of the forest, a few kilometers from the city. Before he had left, the Reskarian had shoved two heavy robes into Jim's free arm. "Take these," he had said, "nights here are cold; you will need them." Jim had barely had time to thank him before Eson was gone. For a few moments, Jim had watched the small vehicle disappear, then he had turned his attention to the Vulcan leaning heavily on his shoulder.

Jim wanted to put as much distance between them and the city as they could, but Spock was in no shape to move quickly. It was a miracle that they had even made it this far. Still, the Vulcan looked slightly better than he had a few minutes ago. His skin seemed to have regained some of its color, and his eyes were more alert, although they were still nothing like what Jim was used to seeing.

"Spock, can you walk for another couple hundred meters?" Jim asked. "I want to put some more distance between us and the city."

Spock turned his head slowly to meet Jim's eyes. "I will endeavor to do so, however, I do not believe that I will be able to continue for an extended period of time." His words were slow in coming as if he had to push them past some kind of barrier before they reached the open air.

"Then we'll go as far as you're able to."

Jim readjusted his grip on Spock, his worry increasing when the other man didn't protest his assistance. Once he was situated, they began to hobble deeper into the forest.

Most of the trees of the forest were the same ones that they had seen in the city when they had first arrived. Jim couldn't remember their name at the moment, but they were tall and thin, and provided very little cover. However, they were very tightly packed, and as they stumbled deeper, the floor of the forest began to be covered with larger undergrowth in the form of bushes and ferns. In the darkness, Jim had trouble differentiating the various forms of plant life, and so he did his best to avoid contact with as many of the plants as he could. The last thing he and Spock needed was some kind of poison ivy rash or something. He almost had to chuckle at that thought—poison ivy was not very high on his list of concerns a few days ago when they had first beamed down, and now...

They were in quite a mess. They had escaped their prison only to find themselves in an unfamiliar wilderness. Here, they were safe from torture, but they were hardly out of danger. Jim knew all too well that the darkness could be hiding things a lot worse than poison ivy. With him and Spock as injured as they were, they would be vulnerable to whatever predators might stalk this forest, not to mention the whims of nature. One heavy rain without shelter would ruin most of their supplies, and possibly get them sick. Jim needed to find a place where he could set up some type of tent or—

"Jim," Spock said quietly.

"What is it?" Jim was instantly on alert, straining his eyes and ears to detect anything that could be a danger to them.

"I can hear a stream of some sort in the distance," the Vulcan replied, and Jim allowed himself to relax slightly. "It would be advisable to set up a shelter near a source of freshwater."

"Which direction?"

"Thirty degrees to your left, about four hundred meters," Spock replied, and this time, Jim could hear the exhaustion in his voice. They had already been moving for half an hour, and he knew every step had to be hurting the Vulcan ten times more than it was hurting Jim. But the promise of fresh water and a place to set up camp was too good to stop now.

"Alright. Let me know if I start to stray," he said. Even with Spock as injured as he was, he still trusted the Vulcan's sense of direction far more than his own. The Vulcan nodded in response, and Jim shifted his weight so that he could support more of Spock's. The man resisted the change for a few moments but eventually gave in, allowing most of his body weight to press against Jim, letting the human almost carry him as they continued deeper into the forest.

It took them another half hour to reach the stream that Spock had heard, and Jim's arms felt as if they were made of lumps of firey lead. Each time Spock shifted or Jim stumbled, bolts of pain traveled up his arms and down his torso, but he stubbornly pushed all of that away. Right now, he had other things to worry about, and so he turned his attention away from the pain in his arms and to the stream.

It was a small thing—only four meters across—but it was fresh and swift-moving, which meant less likelihood of harmful bacteria. Straining his eyes in the dark to scan the area nearby, Jim spotted a grouping of five trees, decently spaced in a rough circle, which would make building a structure of some kind much easier. He nodded to himself slowly. Yes, he could manage this.

"Can you do that healing trance thing while I build us a shelter?" he asked, guiding Spock over to the cluster of trees.

Spock's reply was slow in coming. "I believe my body will soon force me to do so regardless, Jim," he said finally, his voice quiet and brittle in Jim's ear, so unlike the Spock that he was used to hearing. But Spock had been strong for long enough. Now, it was Jim's turn.

"Good," he said, gently helping Spock sit on the ground between the trees. "Do whatever you need to do, Spock. I'll be right here."

For a moment, their eyes met, and despite the darkness, Jim saw something akin to admiration in Spock's glazed eyes, the undeserved look causing a myriad of emotions to flood him. Then, Spock nodded and closed his eyes, hiding the expression.

Part of Jim wanted to stay right next to Spock as he meditated so that he could monitor the Vulcan and make sure that nothing happened. But he had work to do. Sighing, he stood and stepped out of the circle of trees, making his way deeper into the forest to gather the supplies he would need.

. . .

The healing trance was unlike the other forms of meditation that Spock practiced in the fact that it was centered solely on the welfare of the body, rather than that of the mind. As such, it was somewhat difficult for him to perform, especially in his weakened state. However, the technique was ingrained in his brain and body as it was in all Vulcans, and so he had relinquished his conscious control and stepped back, allowing his body and subconscious to take over.

Time was difficult to measure in such a state, but eventually, the pain in Spock's body began to diminish. The trance would not fully heal him, of course, but it mitigated the worst of the damage and sped the process significantly. Slowly, Spock pulled himself from the trance, carefully resuming control of his body and taking a metal stock of his condition. Once he was satisfied that he would be able to function adequately, he opened his eyes.

For a moment he was confused. Instead of opening his eyes to the dim forest that he had closed them to, he found himself sitting in the center of a small shelter made of what appeared to be various plant fronds and other natural fibers. It was about a meter and a half tall and three meters across at its widest point. An impressive creation considering the limited materials and time.

As he admired the shelter, one side shifted to create a small opening. Through the opening stepped Jim, bending low to avoid hitting the ceiling. When the human realized that Spock was aware of his presence, his eyes widened, and he smiled.

"I take it your healing trance is complete?" He sat down across from Spock, setting aside the leaf-wrapped package he had been carrying. "How do you feel?"

"The most severe of my wounds have been healed, and the process will proceed at a faster rate now that the connection between my mind and body has been strengthened," Spock answered. As he spoke, his gaze swept over his captain, and he found himself concerned by what he saw. There were deep bags under the man's eyes, and several of the bandages around his torso and arms were stained red with fresh blood. Spock could also see a number of fresh scrapes and bruises adorning his hands and arms.

"You have exerted yourself beyond what is wise." It was a statement, not a question, and the man sitting across from him glanced away, absentmindedly tousling his matted hair.

"Eh, it wasn't that bad. It only took me, what, four hours to build this thing? Not horrible for someone who hasn't taken a survival course in years, is it?" Jim replied with an easy grin, but Spock recognized it as the same one he tended to use whenever he deemed it necessary to disguise his pain.

"It is indeed most impressive, but you are avoiding the facts, Jim. You are also injured; putting too much strain on your body while it is in a weakened state is foolish, and you do not have the luxury of a healing trance to help reverse the damage you might cause," Spock pointed out, his eyes once more going to the new cuts that covered Jim's hands. They appeared to be superficial wounds, likely earned in the man's construction of their new shelter.

Jim allowed his smile to fall and let out a sigh. "I know, Spock, but we needed shelter as soon as possible. The two of us aren't in the best of shape, so we need all the protection we can get out here. Besides, I couldn't just sit here and do nothing."

Spock held the man's gaze for several moments before nodding slightly. He knew that it was in Jim's nature to do as he had done, and asking him to behave any differently was futile. "Very well. What can I assist you with?"

Jim opened his mouth, likely to make some argument about Spock's own injuries, but he quickly closed it and shook his head. If the situation were different, Spock might have found it humorous that they both knew the other's determination well enough to simply accept it.

"I've finished the shelter as best as I could for now. It isn't completely waterproof or anything, but it should hold up pretty well. The ferns around here have sturdy fronds that I wove together for most of it, and there are some vines that seem to be just as strong as a rope that I tied it all down with," Jim said, and Spock could see weariness in his posture and hear it in his voice.

"Honestly, I'm exhausted, Spock, but I feel too disgusting to sleep." Jim grinned slightly, rolling his shoulders as he spoke. It was obvious that the human was in more discomfort than he let on, but as Spock knew that pressing the matter would get him nowhere, he simply nodded.

"The nearby stream should be adequate for bathing, although it is likely of a temperature much colder than you are accustomed to. I believe that it has its source in the snowmelt of the mountains," he stated.

"I thought about taking a quick dip earlier, but I didn't want to take any chances of anything happening while you were in your trance," Jim said, glancing down. The action indicated embarrassment, although Spock could not discern its source. "Now that you're out of it though, there's no problem." He smiled again, and Spock found himself wondering at the sight. Their situation was, by all viewpoints, far from ideal, and yet the man found the strength to smile. Another trait that made him such a good leader.

"Indeed. However, you will have to change the bandages on your wounds after you finish bathing," Spock reminded him, his eyes passing over the red and white fabric wrapped around Jim's shoulders. That was where the deeper wounds were, although the ones on his torso concerned the Vulcan just as much. He was still uncertain about the nature of the yellow powder that had contaminated them, although there did not seem to be evidence of any lasting negative effects besides the slower rate of healing.

Jim grimaced and let out a sigh. "Well, there goes my bath. I don't want to use any more bandages than necessary, and you just changed mine earlier today, or I guess it was yesterday now." He frowned and Spock watched as his hands moved idly through the grass that made up the floor of their shelter. After a few moments, the man looked up again. "Do you think I could at least wash my hair?" He glanced down and hurried on. "I know this isn't exactly the time to be vain or anything, but I really do feel disgusting."

Spock quirked an eyebrow and looked at the matted mess of hair that adorned his captain's head. The man's hair had always been somewhat wild in nature, but now it was even more so, resembling a tribble in its messy state. It had been over three days since the man had last showered, and in that time, his hair had gathered a significant amount of sweat and dirt along with traces of blood.

"It would be difficult for you to do so without wetting the bandages on your shoulder, however, I could assist you, if you would find that preferable," Spock suggested, the offer leaving his lips almost before he had time to register it.

For a moment, Jim didn't respond, his mouth opened slightly in an obvious expression of surprise. Evidently, he had not expected such an offer. "Really? I'd appreciate that, but only if you think you're up to it."

Spock's eyebrow arched higher. "You have, in the time that I have been in my trance, managed to build a structure of considerable strength and size given the materials and time allotted, all while being wounded and exhausted yourself. I believe I can manage this task."

Jim chuckled slightly at that, and the sound caused Spock's own spirits to rise slightly. "Of course you can. Come on, I found a hollowed-out rock you can use as a cup to hold the water," he said over his shoulder as he turned and exited the tent. Spock followed behind, his back and shoulders providing much less protest at the movement than they had before his trance.

. . .

Jim was lying on his back on the flattest area he could find next to the stream while doing his best not stare at Spock as the Vulcan poured another cupful—or was it rockful—of water on his head and began to work his fingers through the knots in his hair. Try as he might though, he couldn't keep his eyes from drifting over the Vulcan and analyzing what he saw there.

It was now around nine in the morning, and the light highlighted the bags under the Vulcan's eyes, indicating that despite his healing trance, he was still likely just as tired as Jim was, who felt like he could fall asleep where he laid as Spock's fingers carefully untangled another knot in his hair. But despite the exhaustion that was evident, the Vulcan did look much better. The sparkle had returned to his eyes, almost as evident as it typically was, and the pain that had been so obvious in his expression was gone. That didn't mean that the pain itself had disappeared, of course, but the fact that Spock was masking it at all meant that the man was feeling stronger than he had been.

Those weren't the only thoughts going through Jim's mind, though. Part of him was focused on the feeling of Spock's gentle fingers carding through his hair, rinsing out the days of grime that had gathered there. He had always loved it when people played with his hair, but of course Spock was not playing, simply helping Jim. He had been shocked that the Vulcan had offered to do this, given how much he disliked unnecessary physical contact. But he had, and Jim was grateful, even if a part of him felt guilty for it.

Eventually, Spock withdrew his hands and stood from where he had been kneeling at Jim's side. Jim instantly missed the feeling of the Vulcan's fingers running through his hair, but he quickly pushed that thought back and stood as well, feeling as the cold water began to drip down his back. "Thanks, Spock," he said bending over and beginning to squeeze as much water out of his hair as he could.

"You are welcome, Jim," Spock replied, and although Jim couldn't see him from the angle he was at, he knew the Vulcan had given him a small nod. "Perhaps now you will be able to rest."

Jim gave his hair one last squeeze before straightening up and smiling. "It'll be good to sleep somewhere that isn't the stone floor of that cell," he said, "even if we didn't get to bring the bedrolls." He smiled again and stepped past Spock, slipping into the shelter and lying down next to one wall. For a few moments, he simply stared at the frond ceiling before closing his eyes and allowing sleep to finally sweep him away like it had been attempting to do for the past few hours.

. . .

Spock sat just outside the structure while his captain slept. They were fugitives, and although they were likely not where Teanar expected them to be, it would be foolish to neglect their security, and so Spock settled into a light meditation, allowing him to keep his senses alert even as his mind turned inwards.

His behavior had been far from professional for the past several hours, and yet Jim had not made any mention of it. As a half-Vulcan, Spock should have been the stronger one out of the two of them, and yet it was Jim who had—to use the Earth expression—done the heavy lifting both during their escape from the underground prison where they had been kept and in the construction of their shelter. Logically, Spock knew that Jim was less injured than he himself was, which meant that he had fewer pains to impact his stamina. Regardless, he found himself wishing that he had been able to do more for his captain and friend.

Eventually, he pushed those thoughts away, firmly reminding himself of their unproductive nature. Instead, he chose to focus on their current situation. They had escaped the torment of High Councilor Teanar and were now likely being hunted. If the Enterprise had not left orbit yet, it would do so within the next hour, as the "signing" was to take place within that time period. Once the ship left, it would not return to Reskar for several weeks, if it returned at all, leaving him and Jim at the mercy of the elements, and whatever called this planet home, until that time. In short, their chances, although improved from certain death, were slim.

And yet Spock found himself grateful that he was here by Jim's side. As he had told the man earlier in their conversation before Eson had arrived, he would rather be on Reskar than on the Enterprise. It was in many ways illogical, but in a way he simply could not explain, it was. Somehow, being at the man's side felt right, despite the odds stacked against them. It was an odd, but not surprising, knowledge, and Spock allowed it to drift in his mind as he sat watch, his ears alert, the steady sound of Jim's breathing clear and comforting, a familiar sound in an unfamiliar environment.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! I know it's been a while since I posted, but I should have another chapter up this weekend. Thanks for all of the comments you all have left me; I've loved reading them!


	15. Safe but not Sound

A/N: I'm back! In thanks for being patient with me, this chapter is a little longer than normal. Enjoy!

Reskar was almost a beautiful planet, Jim decided. The forest, in its muted gold and grey colors, was reminiscent of some kind of fantasy landscape from a holovid, and with the small stream babbling happily nearby it was practically picturesque. If he weren't stranded here, he might have enjoyed the planet.

Of course, the sight of his First Officer made it better.

Spock was up and moving around, something that made Jim want to give some kind of prayer of thanks to whatever being was listening. His motions were still stiff, and he grimaced every now and again whenever he thought that Jim couldn't see him, but he was much better. Currently, he was bending over and examining one of the flora, a light grey fern that grew next to the tent that Jim had built. Jim's lips turned up in a grin at the sight. He could read the curiosity in the Vulcan's posture, and although he couldn't see his face, he could picture the slightly raised eyebrow gracing his it.

Evidently, Spock felt Jim's eyes on him, for he turned around and placed his hands behind his back in an easy parade rest, raising one eyebrow. "Yes, captain?"

"How many times have I told you, Spock, it's Jim," he replied with a smile, putting the nuts he had gathered into the leaf pouch he had made and standing. "You seem entranced by that plant. You've been studying it for at least three minutes now, so what's so special about it?"

"It is remarkably strong considering its size," the Vulcan said. "I believe that there is something about its cellular structure that allows it to have such high durability while still retaining its flexibility, much like the Rekka trees that make up this forest. It is quite fascinating, and if I had the opportunity, I would study them further, preferably under a high-powered microscope."

That spark was back in Spock's eyes, the one he got whenever he talked about some kind of scientific something that he found particularly fascinating. Jim's grin widened. "I'm glad you can find something interesting on this planet, Spock. Personally, I'd rather be up in the stars."

Almost instantly, the light atmosphere vanished, and Spock took a small step forward, holding Jim's eyes with a weighty stare. "As would I, Jim."

Jim nodded slowly, breaking his gaze away from Spock's to gaze at the ground at the Vulcan's feet. "Yeah, I know, Spock."

There was silence for several moments, and Jim kicked himself mentally for bringing it up at all. He hadn't meant to insinuate that Spock wanted to be on this planet. Who would? And considering everything that the man had already gone through...

Jim shook his head violently and shot Spock a brilliantly fake smile. The Vulcan's eyebrow arched slightly, but he didn't comment, instead turning back to the plant and beginning to harvest the fronds to add to their shelter. Jim watched him for a few moments longer before turning back to his work, picking up the small leaf-pouch again.

After he had awoken a few hours ago around two in the afternoon, Spock had offered to improve their small shelter so that it would be sturdier while also being waterproof. Jim had gladly accepted it and decided to turn his attention to his to gathering food for them.

So far, the only thing that seemed even remotely edible in this forest were these nuts that littered the ground around the trees. They were surprisingly large considering the thin nature of the trees they came from, about the size of Jim's thumb. None of the ones he had picked up so far had shown any sign of being chewed on by any animals, so he had slipped them into the pouch, hoping that they wouldn't end up being poisonous. That would be just his luck.

After another half hour, Jim's pouch was completely full, and he allowed himself to focus once more on Spock. The Vulcan was busily weaving together numerous fronds from the plant he had been studying earlier, and Jim could see where he had begun to improve the structure behind them, layering his improved material on top of Jim's original and securing the two using the dark green vines Jim had found earlier.

Jim carefully set his bundle on a nearby rock, out in the open where he wouldn't forget or lose it, and then made his way over to the Vulcan. "Do you need my help with anything?" he asked, and for some reason, he kept his voice quiet, echoing the melancholy ache in his heart.

It was strange how this world had affected them so quickly. One moment, Jim could smile and nearly laugh, but the next he felt the weight of everything pressing down on him and he could barely breathe. He didn't mean to let his own mood swings impact Spock, who likely considered his behavior illogical, but he couldn't help it. It was as if he had tried to be happy for too long, and now his walls were coming down.

Spock obviously heard the inner turmoil in his voice or read it in his face, for he paused his motions, eyebrows drawing together in concern. "I do not, Capt—Jim. I will have the shelter finished in approximately 52 minutes, however, I could pause my efforts if you have need of me."

"No, no, I'm fine, Spock," Jim said, waving one hand in a meaningless gesture. "I think I'm going to try these nuts, though. It's my turn to see if the food's poisonous or not." Spock opened his mouth, no doubt to volunteer to test them instead, but Jim shook his head. "Nope, no arguments. I'll sit right over here and eat them, so you can keep an eye on me, but I am eating them." Jim held Spock's gaze challengingly, the feeling sweeping away some of the melancholy.

Finally, Spock inclined his head ever so slightly. "Very well, Jim. However, if you begin to feel ill in any way, I ask that you notify me of your state that I might be of assistance." The concern had leached into his voice now, but Jim waved it away.

"I will, Spock. Don't worry." Almost lazily, he wandered back to the rock where he had left the small pouch and plopped down on the grass next to it. Opening it, he pulled out one of the pale yellow nuts. The surrounding shell was flexible but sturdy, just like the tree it came from, so he wasn't able to pry it open with his bare hands. Glancing around, Jim spotted a small flat rock near the edge of the stream and he quickly fetched it, flipping it a few times in his hand as he walked back.

After a minute of unsuccessful bashing, Jim managed to get the thinnest portion of the rock into the crack in the middle of the nut and pry it open. On the inside was something that resembled a large pecan, only with fewer ridges and light grey in color. After a moment of consideration, Jim pried the meat out and popped it in his mouth.

Almost immediately, the urge to spit it back out again flooded him. Choking and wrinkling his nose in disgust, Jim swallowed the food—although he wasn't sure it deserved that classification—and shook his head.

"Are you alright, Jim?" Spock asked, and Jim glanced back toward him, wiping away a few tears that threatened to fall.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Spock. These Rekka nuts are disgusting though. It's like a lima bean mixed with some kind of cleaning solution." He spat to the side, barely resisting the urge to paw at his tongue in an effort to get the taste out of his mouth.

Spock quirked an eyebrow, and his eyes crinkled slightly, a sure sign of amusement that Jim decided was worth the disgusting taste of whatever it was he had just eaten. Heck, he would eat his weight in the stuff if it meant he could see Spock happy like that.

"As they appear to be our only source of food for the moment, I suggest you learn to 'acquire the taste' as you humans often say."

Jim nearly chuckled at that glad that Spock hadn't lost the humor the Vulcan claimed not to hav. "I'll do my best." He leaned back against the tree he was sitting in front of. "How long should we wait before deciding that they're safe to eat?"

"There are many forms of poison which all work at different speeds, however, it is unreasonable to wait an extended amount of time, as we do not have any other options for food," Spock stated. "I will observe you for an hour. That should be a sufficient amount of time to determine any immediate negative effects."

"Very well."

. . .

Spock worked swiftly upon the structure that Jim had built, silently praising the human's work. He was improving the 'tent' as Jim called it to make it sturdier and waterproof, but that did not negate the impressive nature of the task that Jim had completed. The fact that the man had looked at their surroundings in the not-light of the early morning and managed to locate and utilize the materials to construct this was commendable.

But that wasn't where most of Spock's mind was.

Every few seconds, Spock stole a glance at his captain, who was leaning against a tree a few meters from the entrance to their dwelling, eyes closed and legs crossed in front of him. To the casual observer, the man might seem content, even happy, but Spock knew better. His eyes, trained from having spent almost two years by his side, could read the dejected slope of the man's shoulders and the way his brows were slightly drawn, even as his mouth was relaxed. Sorrow. That was the emotion running through Jim now.

Considering their circumstances, sorrow was not an illogical emotion. Jim was stranded on a planet on the fringes of the Federation with no ability to reach the stars. Even if the other man had never voiced it aloud, Spock knew that the one place that Jim truly felt alive and at home was among the stars. And now he had been taken from them.

Spock was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't recognize the strain his hunched position over the tent was putting on his back until he felt pain shoot up his spine, seeming to jump from whip-mark to whip-mark along his back in rapid succession. Clenching his teeth, Spock held in a hiss and stood slowly, silently berating himself for becoming entrenched in his own mind as he stretched his back, several vertebrae popping as he did so.

After the pain had subsided to the point that Spock could push it from his mind, he returned to his work, which was now nearly complete. He had elected not to expend energy attempting to regulate his pain receptors, as the effort expended doing so would be of more use if put to work elsewhere.

Once he had finished weaving the last frond mat in place, Spock stepped back, surveying his work with a critical eye. The tent was now double layered, which would decrease leakage should it rain while also increasing its structural integrity. The weather did not seem to indicate the possibility of rain in the near future, but it was logical to be prepared for any eventuality.

"Finished fixing the tent, Spock?" Jim asked from where he was leaning against the tree, tossing one of the nuts he had gathered back and forth between his hands. In another situation, the action would have seemed casual, but Spock recognized it for the nervous movement it was. His captain was simply attempting to keep his mind focused on something other than their current situation. Recognizing that, Spock stepped toward the man, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of him and saying,

"I am indeed finished, although it would be more accurate to describe my actions as improvements," Spock said, knowing that the technicality of his language would bring a small smile to Jim's face. "Your original structure was impressive considering the lack of time and materials, not to mention your injured state." As Spock had hypothesized, Jim's lips turned up slightly before he replied.

"You flatter me, Mr. Spock."

"I speak only the truth."

Jim looked like he wanted to say something, but then a strange expression passed over his face too quickly for Spock to decipher it. The man shook his head slightly, and his smile widened, but this time, Spock could tell that it was forced.

"I don't appear to be suffering any ill effects from the Rekka nuts," Jim said, his tone too bright to be sincere. Spock briefly considered pressing the matter and deciphering what was disturbing his captain but quickly decided that the man's behavior, while strange, was understandable in the context of their situation, so he kept quiet as the man continued. "Can I dig in now?"

Spock's lips turned down a fraction as he carefully studied the man across from him, searching for some kind of reaction to the Rekka nut. The captain was well-known for his numerous allergies, but it seemed that this particular substance was not among them. After another moment, he nodded slightly, silently giving his permission.

Jim grinned—this one was almost real—and cracked open another nut and eagerly popped the meat on the inside into his mouth. Almost instantly, his face contorted into a grimace and he swallowed with a gagging sound.

"Gah! Somehow, that was even worse than the first time I tried these!" Jim declared, glaring at the cracked shell in his lap as if it had personally offended him. "Whoever said that everything tastes good when you're hungry clearly never had a Rekka nut."

Spock raised an eyebrow. The captain's humor sounded as genuine as his disgust, which left him to wonder why the man's earlier smile had been forced. Had Spock's own actions caused the adverse reaction? He had merely complimented Jim, believing that the honest praise would lift the man's spirits. Evidently, he had been in error. He would need to pay closer attention to his captain in order to ascertain the true nature of his change in mood.

"Well, since there's nothing else to eat, I guess I'll 'try to acquire the taste' as you said," Jim stated, holding out one of the nuts to Spock, who took it and turned it over in his hand, examining the odd grey coloring of the meat within. "Although I think that might be a little difficult." Jim began to chew another handful, his nose wrinkling as he did so.

After a moment of contemplating the substance in his palm, Spock followed suit, tossing the grey meat into his mouth and chewing carefully. The Rekka nut was, as his captain had said, of an unappealing palate, however, Spock did not find it quite as disturbing as the man across from him obviously did.

For the next fifteen minutes, they sat like that, cracking open the Rekka nuts one by one and eating them slowly, Jim muttering quite complaints every few mouthfuls. Once they were finished, the ground around them now littered with pale yellow shells and the half-chewed remains of a nut that Jim insisted was particularly disgusting, Spock moved to stand but was stopped when Jim rested a light hand briefly on his arm.

"Those bandages on your back need to be changed," he said, his tone carrying more weight and authority than it had earlier. Evidently, Jim knew that Spock would protest, as he shook his head before Spock could form the words. "Don't argue with me on this, Spock. I know we have a limited supply of bandages and medicine, but your back needs to be cleaned and rebandaged."

Logically, Spock knew that Jim was correct. The wounds on his back were numerous and deep, deep enough that an infection in any of them could be life-threatening. With that thought in his mind, Spock nodded resignedly. "Very well, Jim. However, I ask that you be conservative in your use of our supplies."

"Of course," Jim's voice had softened now, a note of weariness creeping in as well. "Take a seat next to the stream and I'll grab the supplies."

. . .

When Jim stepped back out of the tent, Spock was facing away from him, and the first things that Jim saw were the white-green bandages that covered at least seventy percent of Spock's bare back. He had to stop then and close his eyes, mentally commanding himself to push aside the tumultuous feelings that rose at the sight. 'Be logical, Jim,' he ordered himself sternly. 'Those feelings aren't going to do you or Spock any good right now. The past is over; all you can do now is make sure he's okay.'

Opening his eyes, Jim strode forward purposefully, bandages tucked under one arm and the small container of medicine in his hand along with the bowl-rock to scoop water from the stream. He sat down next to Spock, and the Vulcan shifted slightly so that his back was angled toward both Jim and the stream.

"Are your shields up?" Jim asked suddenly, fingers hovering a few centimeters above the first bandage, hoping his voice didn't sound as nervous as he himself was. He would help his friend regardless of the answer, of course, but ever since a certain revelation had made itself known, he found that he was uncomfortable with the idea of Spock seeing his thoughts or feeling his emotions.

"They are in adequate condition, Captain."

Dang it, Spock had reverted to his title. Jim hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable or anything, or make him feel like he didn't trust him. Crap. "It's fine if they aren't, Spock," he hurried to add. "I just don't want to bombard your thoughts with my unregulated human emotions."

"I am strong enough to prevent any transference," Spock assured, and suddenly, Jim found that he wished Spock was facing him so he could read the Vulcan's expression. His words were as carefully emotionless as always, but Jim had always been able to read hints of what Spock was feeling in the man's face. He resisted the urge to move, however, and simply got to work, carefully unwrapping the bandages and setting them aside. They might be able to find a different use for them later.

As he removed the bandages, Jim's chest grew tighter and tighter as one by one, Spock's wounds were revealed to him once more. They looked better than they had when Jim had first bandaged them in the dim light of their cell, but they were still bad. Although he could no longer see bone peeking through the torn skin anywhere, several of the whip-marks were deep, the flesh around them a deep green, what Jim figured was the equivalent of his own skin turning red.

All of this had been to protect him.

That thought bounced around in his mind the entire time that he worked, try as he might to still and silence it. It was a moot point now, and he knew that, but he couldn't get it to leave his brain. However, among the familiar guilt and anger and sorrow that came with it, there was something else. Something that was almost pleasant. Spock had endured this for him. Perhaps it was out of a sense of duty or obligation—Jim prayed it wasn't obligation, no one was obligated to go through that for him—, but Jim felt that it went deeper than that—that on some level, Spock actually cared about him as a person, enough to suffer in his place.

If he could have reversed their situations, he would have in a heartbeat. That fact hadn't changed. But now Jim found that the weight pressing down on his chest was a little lighter. Spock cared for him. Not the way Jim cared, loved, of course, but the fact that Jim had earned any of the Vulcan's consideration at all made him want to glow with pride. He and Spock had had a friendship for some time now, and they had had plenty of moments where they showed their appreciation for one another, but for some reason, this just felt different.

There was a small smile on Jim's face as he dipped two fingers into the jar of paste and began to gently smear it across Spock's wounds. It was a pained, sad smile, but it was a smile nonetheless, and once again, Jim found himself selfishly thanking the stars that he wasn't alone, that Spock was here with him.

"Jim, you have been unnaturally quiet," Spock stated in his deep voice, startling Jim from his thoughts and causing him to blush and look away even though the Vulcan wasn't facing him. "If you are concerned for my well-being, please do not be. These wounds should cause little permanent damage and be healed within the next eleven days with the aid of the medicine and my healing trance."

"I'm glad to hear that, Spock, but it doesn't stop me from worrying." The words were out of Jim's mouth before he thought them through. "I'm used to taking care of my crew, and that's my instinct, even if I don't have a starship anymore and my crew consists of just you."

Spock was silent for a few moments, and Jim thought that he was going to let the subject drop when he spoke again, his voice quiet, only slightly louder than the stream they sat beside. "That is one of the traits that makes you an exemplary captain. Your concern for individual crew members—even when unnecessary—is both noted and appreciated by those who serve under you. It is one reason why they, and I, trust you so fully."

Jim was definitely blushing now. "Now you really are flattering me, Spock. Still," he said before the Vulcan could interject, "I appreciate it." And he did, more than he could adequately explain. Knowing that he had at least some portion of Spock's trust made him feel light inside, like Reskar's gravity had been altered slightly.

There was silence between them as Jim finished applying medicine to Spock's wounds and bandaging them, but it was a comfortable and familiar silence, and for a few moments, Jim felt like he was back aboard the Enterprise, sitting across the chess table from Spock, enjoying the Vulcan's quiet presence.

A/N Thanks for reading, my lovely friends! You guys have been so patient with me, which I really appreciate. Your comments have really kept me going, so thank you so much for that!


	16. When the Night Grows Cold

A/N Hey, guys. Remember how last week I thought it was the worst week ever and I was swamped with work? This week was worse. Like, a lot worse, and I feel like it's been that way for a lot of people. This chapter is really fluffy, which is helping to offset my mood a bit. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

The rest of the day was spent gathering food and supplies. Spock insisted that they be prepared for any eventuality, and Jim didn't disagree with him, so he dedicated his time to stockpiling food and searching, in vain, for something more palatable than the Rekka nut. He did, however, find a type of pale pink vine that was barely thicker than a spiderweb crawling up the underside of a few of the ferns. It was remarkably strong, just like everything else in this forest seemed to be, and he figured they could find some use for it, so he spent several hours carefully harvesting and storing it.

He and Spock worked it silence for the most part, but Jim didn't mind. They stayed within sight of one another, and that was enough for him. All he needed was physical proof that the whisperings in his mind weren't real, that there was truly someone else here by his side.

As the Reskarian sun began to sink lower in the sky, Jim's hunger made itself known again, and he sat down just outside of their tent to eat a few more Rekka nuts. Four bites in, Spock made his way over and sat across from him, a look of deep contemplation on his face. Jim finished chewing, forcing down the last bite with a suppressed gag, before leaning forward.

"What's on your mind?" he asked. The question caused Spock to arch an eyebrow, and Jim couldn't help the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth at the sight of the familiar expression.

"Several things, Jim, our current situation not the least among them. However, I am currently questioning why there are no animals in this forest, despite the abundant flora," Spock said.

Jim frowned. "No animals? Surely there are some around here somewhere." He glanced around the forest, noting for the first time just how still it was. "Maybe they just don't like people and are waiting out of sight for us to leave."

"I do not believe so. The Rekka nuts you have gathered are completely untouched, and yet they have obviously been on the ground since before we arrived. In a different forest, they would have been at least partially eaten by the local animals, particularly small rodents. But they have not been."

"I don't blame them, Spock. These are disgusting." He didn't know why he was arguing with Spock. If the Vulcan came to a conclusion, it was after considerable study and analyzation, which meant he was very rarely incorrect in his theories. But Jim just couldn't comprehend the idea of a forest without animals of any kind.

Spock raised an eyebrow at him, the way he always seemed to do when Jim was being illogically stubborn, and he relented. "Okay, I'll admit that I haven't seen any sign of animals, or birds, or insects for that matter. Why do you think that is?"

This time, Spock's reply was slower in coming, as his face took on the distant, thoughtful expression that Jim had come to appreciate so much. "I do not know, however, it is a troubling fact. Without animals of any kind, the ecological balance of the forest is greatly disrupted."

"Do you think the rest of the planet is like this, or just this area?" Jim was truly interested in the discussion now, and he barely noticed the cool breeze that blew between them, rustling the discarded shells of the Rekka nuts scattered around him.

"It is unlikely that this phenomenon extends to the entire planet, as that would be a cause for great concern, greater than a trade deal with the Federation or the Klingons," Spock said, and Jim could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "It is possible that this forest is purposefully kept clear of animals, although doing so with any success would be difficult to achieve."

Jim actually frowned at that, his muscles going tense as the realization of what Spock was saying sunk in. "If that's true, then this place is probably monitored frequently. If we stay here for too much longer..." he trailed off, not wanting to think about what could happen if he and Spock were found by Teanar again.

"Indeed. However, I have seen no evidence of remote surveillance, and I do not have enough data to completely corroborate my theory. As such, I believe it would be unwise to move from a place of relative safety in our current disadvantaged state," Spock said, and although his voice had hardly changed, Jim found himself relaxing. The Vulcan sounded so confident that Jim couldn't help but feel better.

He was about to open his mouth and ask what kind of creatures Spock thought normally inhabited a forest like this one when a sharp wind blew, and he saw the Vulcan repress a shiver, the tips of his ears flushing slightly. All at once, Jim realized that the temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees since this afternoon, putting the temperature at around forty-something degrees Farenheight. The cold didn't really bother him—he had always loved being outdoors in the winter on the farm—but Vulcans were used to far higher temperatures, and Spock was still wearing nothing more than some light pants and bandages, his robe having been sacrificed days ago to bind Jim's wounds.

"Go put on one of those robes Eson gave us, Spock," Jim ordered, shaking his head inwardly at how stubbornly proper the Vulcan was. He was obviously cold, but he was ignoring it for some reason, likely so he didn't interrupt their current conversation.

Spock, for his part, did not argue against the order, standing swiftly and turning back toward the tent, but not before Jim saw the very tips of his ears turn an even deeper green, a reaction he doubted was caused solely by the cold. Jim's lips pulled up in the smallest of grins, and he leaned back agaisnt the tree behind him once more. As he did so, another gust of wind picked up the shells of the Rekka nuts and tossed a few into the stream with its strength. This time, the cold made him shiver, and he decided there wouldn't be any harm in putting on one of those heavier robes himself.

. . .

The fabric of the robe irritated Spock's skin. It was clearly of some kind of plant-based fiber and designed for utility rather than comfort. Nevertheless, he was grateful for it. As he pulled on the upper portion, the heavy weight settling on his shoulders and increasing the discomfort there but providing a warmth he greatly needed. He had been so intent upon his work throughout the day that he had not noticed the gradually changing temperature until it had taken a rapid plunge once the sun began to set. Now, it was as if the cold was pressing against him on all sides, refusing to let him think of anything else as the temperature continued to decrease.

He was tying the sash in the front of the robe when the entrance to the tent rustled and opened to reveal his captain. In the dimming light, Spock could see that the hair on Jim's arms was standing up, as was the flesh on his chest, evidence that it had become cold enough for the temperature to cause the man discomfort as well.

"I guess Eson wasn't lying about the drastic change in temperature at night," he said with a grin as he stooped to enter the tent and made his way across the small structure to where the other set of dark grey robes sat. "I swear it's dropped another ten degrees since I first noticed the change. It's got to be in the thirties by now."

Spock nodded once, although his captain was too busy changing into the heavier robes to notice. "It is now 38 degrees Farenheight," he said and was ashamed to hear a slight quiver in his voice. His mental capacities were spread too thin; he could not properly regulate his pain and temperature receptors while also maintaining his mental shields and alert senses. Concentrating, he stilled his voice as he continued, "If I remember correctly, the nights in Alor Tos can reach 20 degrees during this season and lower temperatures in the mountains nearby."

Jim pulled on the top of the robe and turned back toward Spock, a slight grimace crossing his face as the rough fabric brushed against the sensitive skin of his arms. "It didn't seem this cold last night," the man said with a frown. "I suppose the adrenaline and constant movement would account for that though."

Spock nodded as he settled into a cross-legged position toward the center of the room, away from the drafty walls. "My healing trance diverted almost all of my energy, shutting down nonessential functions including my temperature receptors."

Jim tied the front of his robe and sat down as well only half of a meter away from Spock. Even from that distance, the Vulcan could feel the heat that radiated from him, a byproduct of a less efficient internal chemical processes, and he was appalled at the desire that flooded him to lean forward and absorb that heat into his own body. Forcing his thoughts away from that highly unprofessional situation, Spock said,

"I will keep watch tonight, Captain."

As Spock had anticipated, the man immediately objected. "Not happening, Mr. Spock. I took a nap earlier today, in case you've forgotten. That means it's my turn. Besides, I don't think a healing trance takes the place of sleep, and it's been a while since you've gotten any."

Spock couldn't deny the logic of his captain's words, but he found himself resisting them anyway. "It is unlikely that I will be able to achieve a state restful sleep under the current circumstances. As such, I should take the watch." As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew that he had committed a grave error. Instantly, Jim frowned and leaned forward, and Spock had to redouble his efforts to ignore the pleasant warmth that radiated from him.

"Current conditions? What does that mean?" he asked, and Spock could see concern written in the furrow of his brows and hear it in the pitch of his voice. "Is it the confined quarters? I know you need your personal space." As he spoke, the man started to shift back, and Spock missed his warmth instantly.

"It is not that," Spock said quickly, speaking against his better judgment. He looked down, unable to keep a slight blush from creeping up his ears, try as he might to contain it. "I am currently unable to properly regulate all of the functions required for me to attain restful sleep due to the temperature."

Jim blinked at him for a moment before furrowing his brows even further. For a moment, the man seemed to be debating internally, and although Spock couldn't read all of the expressions that flitted across the man's face, he could see concern and uncertainty and embarrassment among them. Finally, the man seemed to come to a decision.

"We both need sleep, Spock. If you can't rest because of the temperature—if the cold is the problem—" A faint blush was creeping up Jim's neck now, which served to increase the warmth coming from him, and he took a deep breath before starting again. "What I mean to say is that we could sleep near each other—to conserve body heat. I know that's probably not ideal for you," he rushed to add, "but I feel like I had to at least offer." The man looked away, the blush having spread to his cheeks.

For a moment, Spock was too stunned to reply. His captain was offering to share his personal space because he knew that doing so would provide comfort to him. Jim was free with his contact with others, Spock knew, but he had always restricted such actions around Spock, so the offer was unexpected to say the least.

But it was not unwanted, and that was the problem.

With his mental shields in the state they were, Spock couldn't be certain that they would remain strong enough during slumber to prevent the transference of emotions or even thoughts if he and Jim were to sleep in close proximity. The thought of his inner tumult of emotions being forced upon Jim was nearly enough to make him shudder. It would be unfair to plague the man with emotions that Spock himself had not sorted through. And that was to say nothing of the possibility of the transfer of his pain. He couldn't allow himself to cause his captain any additional pain, regardless of the benefit to himself.

"Spock? It was just a suggestion, you don't have to say yes," Jim said quietly, and Spock could hear self-reproach in the man's voice. Likely, he believed that he had overstepped the bounds of propriety in his offer or caused offense to some Vulcan belief. As if to confirm Spock's suspicion, Jim moved backward, his expression becoming closed, not unlike the one he wore during stressful situations when he was acting as the captain. "I crossed a line. I apologize."

Spock shook his head slightly. "You did not, Jim," he said, purposely using the man's name instead of his title. "I was simply weighing the consequences of my options." Jim's posture didn't relax, and Spock found himself speaking without thinking. "I appreciate your offer, and it is because of my own limitations that I must decline it, not any mistake of yours." As he spoke, a gust of wind rustled the tent, slipping under the edge and causing Spock to shiver.

Jim hesitated for a moment before moving forward slowly, stopping twice as far from Spock as he had been before he had moved away. "Spock," he said, and even with just that one word, Spock knew his resistance wouldn't hold out against Jim's quiet support much longer. "you're freezing. If you don't mind the contact, there's no reason not to, not if it will help you rest. Even Vulcan bodies need sleep in order to heal properly."

It was an odd feeling, the sensation of his mental barriers crashing down. Not the ones he erected to prevent accidental melding, but the ones he had constructed around his own emotions, boxing them in so that they would not exert undue control over his actions. He had reinforced them time and time again, yet each time he did, he failed to correct their greatest weakness. With just a few words, Jim sent them tumbling, and Spock almost couldn't find it in himself to care. Still, he knew he should, and with that in mind, he gathered his arguments.

"In my current state, it is unlikely that I will be able to maintain the full integrity of my mental shields, and given the close contact that your proposal would involve, I cannot guarantee that my own emotions and pains would not be transferred to you during my slumber," Spock explained, resolutely maintaining eye contact with the man across from him, despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to turn away from this conversation and simply forget it had ever happened.

To Spock's surprise, Jim only nodded in response to this information. "I had thought that might be the case, and I'm okay with that. I swear I won't judge you on anything I feel." He blushed and looked down. "Besides, it's not like this is a one-way thing. I'm cold too, Spock. It's logical to share our body heat."

Spock didn't have a reply to that. After several moments of silence, his mind debating all of the consequences at rapid speed, he nodded. "Very well, but you must promise to wake me if my shields deteriorate to the point of invading your privacy."

"I will."

There was silence for a moment, and then they both began to move. Still hesitant but unable to deny himself the warmth he needed any longer, Spock laid down in the center of the small space, curling in on himself to conserve as much heat as he could. Almost as soon as he was situated, the drowsiness that he had been pushing back for most of the day rushed to the forefront of his mind. Then another gust of wind shook the tent, and he felt a shiver wrack his body, despite his efforts to contain it.

Behind him, Jim cursed quietly under his breath. A few moments later, Spock felt him settle on the ground beside him. The man seemed to hesitate, but then he inched forward, his body heat radiating off of him in a comfortable wave. "Sleep, Spock," he said quietly, and the exhausted Vulcan obeyed the command, allowing his eyes to slip closed and his mind to release some of its white-knuckle grip on his controls.

. . .

Jim had to resist the urge to squirm. He was, in general, a mobile sleeper—always seeming to end up in completely different position from where he started. Now, however, he was all too aware of his sleeping companion and that companion's need for personal space. So he pushed aside the heavy feeling in his cold limbs and concentrated on staying still and shielding Spock from as much of the wind as he could. Thankfully, most of the wind that was getting into the tent was from Jim's side, so he was able to situate himself to block the majority of it.

As if to prove his thoughts, another gust of wind blew, rustling their tent and slipping inside to batter against Jim's back. A shiver ran through him, more from the unexpected shock than the cold, and he sighed mentally. This was not going to be a very comfortable night.

But then his thoughts turned to the Vulcan curled in front of him, his back maybe a dozen centimeters away. His friend's chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm too fast to be human but slow, he knew, for a Vulcan. The man was actually sleeping. The realization made Jim grin as a quiet feeling of triumph flooded him, swiftly followed by his own drowsiness. Both outweighed the discomfort caused by the cold and uncomfortable position, and a moment later, his eyes closed, and he began to drift into the realm of sleep, comforted by the knowledge that Spock was doing the same, that his crazy scheme had actually worked.

A/N I really hope you guys liked that chapter. I wrote it like a week ago, and I'm exhausted right now (excuses, I know) so I haven't looked it over. Cold!Spock is one of my favorite things, so I just had to include it. Also, I love the idea that Jim is like a human furnace, like to the point that Spock would think he had a fever if he didn't know the man so well already. Anyway, thank you for reading. Please leave me a comment if you have a moment; they really make me happy, and I love talking to you all.


	17. Morning Revelations

A/N Here's another chapter for you! I should be back to a regular schedule now (although I think I said that last time too...) Enjoy!

Spock woke to an overwhelming feeling of comfort. That comfort was quickly followed by the sensations of warmth and light, both of which encouraged Spock to open his eyes. They quickly adjusted to the gentle grey light that shone through the leaf-frond ceiling of the small tent, but the modest light alone was not enough to warrant such a sensation of comfort. Then, the rest of Spock's senses caught up with his sight.

His captain was sleeping peacefully beside him, curled on one side, with an arm thrown almost protectively over Spock's torso.

At the same moment that Spock realized the position he was in, he realized that the powerful feeling of comfort was not entirely his own. Sometime in the night, his mental barriers had weakened, allowing his touch-telepathy to take advantage of the closeness between him and Jim. His muscles tensed and he felt his ears burn in an even deeper blush even as he quickly threw up his shields, severing the accidental connection before he unconsciously delved too deep into the sleeping man's mind.

For a moment, he contemplated extracting himself from Jim's grip, but even as he searched for ways he would be able to remove himself without waking the man, Jim's arm tightened around him and let out a quiet sigh of content. Spock would not be going anywhere.

Resigning himself to that truth, he allowed his muscles to relax and turned his mind to the task of a mental inventory of his faculties and abilities. His rest had been productive in that regard, as the wounds on his shoulders were now scabbing over, a few having already closed. The damage to his back was not quite as healed, but it had improved significantly during the night, one of the many benefits of his Vulcan heritage.

Perhaps more importantly, his mental capabilities were fully restored. Instead of being encumbered by pain and an onslaught of other sensations, Spock was able to easily regulate his sensors to provide only the input he needed to keep him alert. The rest of his mind he devoted to redoubling his mental shields, as logic told him that the previous night was likely not going to be the only time that he and Jim would be forced into tight quarters.

Once that task was through, he allowed his mind to wander. It, as was its habit, centered its focus on the man laying beside him. With effort, Spock could have directed his thoughts elsewhere, but he found that he greatly desired to analyze several of the interactions he had had with the man over the past few days, interactions that he had previously been too weak to sort through in his mind.

Closing his eyes, Spock slipped into an almost-meditation, allowing himself to digest the events of the past few days and determine their meaning and import, as well as identify his own misjudgements and shortcomings.

The first event that floated to the surface of his mind was hazy, as though he were viewing it through muddy water. When Eson had first deposited them on the edge of the forest, he had barely been conscious and had in fact been keeping himself awake through little more than force of will. But he remembered Jim half-carrying him through the forest before placing him on the ground in the center of a ring of trees and ordering him to enter his healing trance, which he had done without argument.

Looking back, Spock acknowledged that there was very little he could have done differently, but he could not help but admire his captain's acceptance of his faults. Logically, the man should have left him in the compound and followed Eson alone, as his burdening presence had increased their chances of getting caught by at least two hundred percent. And yet he had not. Instead, the man had endured, even managing to build a shelter while Spock recovered.

Such determination was what made James Kirk Starfleet's most successful captain. There were members of the brass—as Jim called them—that did not understand or appreciate the man's often unorthodox methods of overcoming the situations they faced, but no one could deny that James Tiberius Kirk never let an obstacle stand between him and success.

The memory sufficiently analyzed, Spock's mind turned to the next. This interaction was starkly different and for some reason, it held a different emotion for Spock. The next memory was from the day before, when he had offered to assist Jim in washing his hair.

The man had seemed surprised that he would offer to do so, which confused Spock. Jim was, as the arm currently surrounding his torso evidenced, a very tactile man. His interaction with others almost always included some form of physical contact, even if it was brief, which begged the question of why he was surprised that Spock was willing to do the same for him. The man was very culturally aware, but Spock had endeavored on multiple occasions to express his consent to Jim's frequent touches.

Setting that question aside for later, Spock turned his mind instead to another portion of the memory: the relaxed state that Jim had allowed himself to slip into for a time, not too different from the way the man was now.

As much as James Kirk was an incredible captain, he was also a man. It was difficult to maintain the persona of captain at all times while aboard a starship, Spock knew, and yet Jim did so with remarkable ease. At times, however, he allowed the persona to fade away and he was simply Jim Kirk. Spock was fascinated by these moments. Often, they occurred while he and Jim played chess or interacted in a similar manner when neither of them were on duty. At first, Spock had not known what to make of these subtle changes in the man's behavior, but when he had realized that they were a display of his trust, Spock had done his best to accommodate them, making sure to refer to Jim by name instead of by his title during those times.

But they were not aboard the Enterprise playing chess now. This was a different circumstance, the intricacy of which Spock could not fully decipher. As always, Jim was his captain, regardless of the technical changes in their status now that the Enterprise had left Reskar. And yet in some ways, he seemed very much like Jim Kirk, the man, not the captain. It was an odd balance, and it left Spock feeling confused and almost apprehensive. He preferred to know exactly where he stood in his relationship with Jim, but right now, he was uncertain. It would have worried him more, except for quiet voice that told him Jim felt the same way.

Before his mind could spiral any further down that train of thought, Spock felt the man next to him stir. There was a moment of stillness as the man woke fully followed by a quiet curse. An instant later, the warmth that Spock had forgotten was present disappeared as Jim quickly put distance between them.

. . .

Stars. In Jim's mind, that was all he could see. Stars and the endless black expanse of space. To another, such a sight might be terrifying. To stand in the midst of so much vastness and realize just how insignificant one was in comparison to space could be overwhelming. But for Jim, it was home.

The stars had always brought him a feeling of comfort, even when he had been young, staring up at them on a clear night on the farm. Sam used to tell him stories about the stars, and his father had taught them both the name of every speck of light in the sky that they could see. Jim would lay under them until the sun began to creep over the horizon thinking of nothing and everything.

Once he became a starship captain, he had seen the stars with new enthusiasm and wonder. Everyone told him that he would tire of the void eventually, that he would begin to find the endless black monotonous, but that hadn't happened yet, and Jim honestly didn't believe that it ever would. Simply being there among such vastness felt right in a way he had never been able to explain, even to Bones. But it was.

Slowly, Jim felt the stars in his mind begin to dim as his consciousness reasserted its control over his mind. With a wistful feeling, he relinquished his hold on sleep, allowing himself to be brought once more into the soft light of the morning. Holding back a yawn, Jim opened his eyes and was met with sleek black hair.

He blinked a few times, his brain not registering what it was that his eyes told him he was seeing. Slowly, the pieces fell into place as his memory returned. Spock. That was Spock's hair. He had slept next to Spock to keep the Vulcan warm. As that truth asserted itself, Jim realized that he had one arm wrapped around Spock's torso, practically tugging the Vulcan back into his chest.

Instantly, Jim pulled his arm back as if he had been burned and quickly scrambled away, putting a more appropriate amount of space between him and Spock. Stars, couldn't he get anything right? All he had wanted to do was keep Spock from freezing to death, and in doing so he had completely invaded the Vulcan's privacy.

"Sorry—Sorry about that, Spock," Jim croaked out as Spock sat up. The Vulcan carefully straightened his robe and dusted off his hair before facing him, his features expressionless. "I guess I forgot that I sleep like an octopus; it's been a while since I had to worry about disturbing a sleeping partner." The instant the last phrase had left his mouth, Jim regretted it. He hadn't meant to imply—

"There is nothing to apologize for, Jim," Spock said, his deep voice holding a note of laughter. Great. Spock was laughing at him. He quickly berated himself for that thought; Spock would never commit such a breach of social conduct—unlike Jim. "My sleep was quite restful, and I have you to thank for my ability to do so."

So Spock wasn't going to mention the fact that Jim had pretty much cuddled him against his will. Well, if he wasn't going to bring it up, there was no reason for Jim to do so. Instead, he changed the subject. "I think I might devote today to trying to find something more edible in this forest than those Rekka nuts. " The shift was far from subtle, but Spock allowed it without so much as an eyebrow raise, and Jim relaxed.

"It is likely that your search will be more fruitful if you follow the stream along its southern course. Fresh water increases biological diversity, and the prominent nature of the stream will allow you to find your way back to the camp with little difficulty," Spock pointed out, and Jim nodded.

"Survival 101. Well, while I'm looking for plants, what do you plan to do?"

Spock tilted his head slightly, considering the question. "I believe it would be beneficial to create tools for us to use."

Right. So they could avoid another situation like the one Jim had woken to a few minutes ago. Stars, he had probably hurt Spock by putting pressure on his wounds or something... Pushing that thought away, he nodded again and forced a smile onto his face. "Sounds good. I'll check in here every hour or so. I don't plan on going far, but just to be safe."

Spock nodded. "A wise decision."

There was a pause, and Jim had to resist the urge to squirm under Spock's gaze. What was the Vulcan looking for? Whatever it was, he seemed to have found it, for he nodded slightly—hardly moving his head a half-dozen centimeters—and said, "Be careful, Jim." Jim shot him a grin—thank the stars that he had learned to do that on reflex—and stood, stooping as he exited the tent.

. . .

Jim wandered through the forest, which he had decided to name the Forest of Unending Rekka Nuts, half-searching for some other kind of food. The rest of his mind was flitting between various memories and thoughts and fears—all surrounding Spock.

Now that he was away from the Vulcan, he could think more clearly, which in and of itself was a problem. He was the captain of a starship! How could he expect to make the right calls at the right times if a portion of his mind was always distracted? And Spock was distracting. Thankfully, that wasn't a question he needed an answer to at the moment, as he wasn't going to be captaining a starship anytime soon. No, the question he needed an answer to—badly, so so badly—was did Spock know?

Did Spock know that Jim was in love with him?

Spock had warned him that his mental shields were nearly nonexistent, but Jim had pushed that fact, and its ramifications, aside in favor of helping the Vulcan. Now, however, Jim found himself wondering how much of his thoughts and feelings Spock saw during the night. Jim didn't fully understand how this touch-telepath stuff worked, so he didn't know if it was just surface thoughts that Spock could see, or if the deeper ones were fair game as well. And even if he did, Jim didn't know where his love fit in.

It wasn't exactly at the forefront of his mind all the time, no matter how distracting the Vulcan was. After all, Jim hadn't even known it existed until a few days ago. It was just kind of there, in the background of everything, running through him like a gentle current in the sea. Had Spock picked up on it? And if he had, what was he going to do about it?

The Vulcan hadn't behaved any differently this morning, although the circumstances had made it difficult to determine what normal behavior even was. If Spock had discovered Jim's feelings for him, it would have been logical for the Vulcan to address them at the first possible opportunity. Unless he was trying to spare Jim the embarrassment of that conversation. It could be that Spock had seen his feelings but was ignoring them for Jim's benefit...

Jim let out a curse and kicked a Rekka tree, causing several more nuts to fall from its branches. He barely noticed them.

Logically, the best way to approach this would be to tell Spock how he felt. Then, he could clear up any confusion between them and tell Spock that his illogical emotions didn't have to come between them. And if Spock already knew, Jim would be saved the whole explanation and could skip straight to the assurances. That was the smart thing to do.

But it was terrifying.

The thought of admitting to Spock an emotion that Jim had only recently realized he even had made his skin crawl. The Vulcan would never tease or think less of him for it, Jim knew, but he also wouldn't reciprocate the feelings. And Jim wasn't certain he would be able to face that.

Jim let out a long sigh and leaned back against a tree, allowing his head to rest against the bark. Above him, the sky was visible through the trees, and the sun shone almost directly overhead. For a few moments, he stared up at it, blinking. Then his eyes widened and another curse fell from his lips.

He was late to his check-in by almost thirty minutes if the sun in the sky was anything like the sun on Earth.

When Jim reached their small camp fifteen minutes later, he completely out of breath, having run the entire way back. Spock was nowhere to be seen, so Jim took a second to catch his breath before moving aside the opening of the tent and slipping inside.

In the middle of the tent, sat Spock, his hands busily sewing what looked like a backpack out of leaf fronds and that vine that Jim had found the day before. When Jim entered, the Vulcan looked up and set the project aside.

"You are overdue for your check-in by thirty-nine minutes," he said, raising an eyebrow. Thankfully, Jim detected humor in his voice, so the Vulcan wasn't truly mad at him.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Jim apologized, scratching the back of his head absently. "I got lost in thought, I guess. I'm glad I didn't worry you too much, though."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I have simply learned that 'every hour or so' can indicate any time between one and two hours. Had you surpassed that, I would have gone in search of you."

Jim couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face at his friend's playful words. "I suppose that's a human failing of mine," he chuckled. The Vulcan only looked at him in response, but Jim could read amusement in his eyes. "I didn't manage to find anything any more edible than the Rekka nuts, unfortunately. I found a few roots and such, but I'm not sure they'd be safe to eat without cooking them, and we don't want to risk a fire."

Spock nodded in agreement. "We are too close to the city to safely attempt to do so." He paused, looking down at the bag in his hands. "I believe we should attempt to find a more distant shelter. The mountains to the north would likely provide us with adequate shelter and would make it difficult for the High Councilor to track us."

Jim sighed and settled onto the floor across from Spock. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that soon, and I agree. I just don't want us to try to leave only to find that we don't have the strength to do it."

"An understandable concern, however, my injuries have healed considerably. If your own injuries are still too—"

"No, no, I'm fine, Spock," Jim said quickly, cutting the Vulcan off. "I'm fine. When do you want to leave?"

Spock gazed at him for a few moments longer, likely attempting to confirm the truth of Jim's statement, before saying, "Tomorrow, if possible. I have created several bags in which we can carry our supplies and a store of Rekka nuts for food. If we follow the stream to the north, we will have a supply of fresh water as well."

"Sounds good. What do you want me to do?" Jim asked, glad that the awkwardness from this morning seemed to have vanished entirely.

"If you are willing, you could gather more Rekka nuts to take with us. This bag should suffice." Spock held out one of his bags, which resembled a drawstring backpack, for Jim to take. He did so, slinging it over one shoulder with ease.

"Will do. Anything else?"

Spock shook his head.

"Alright. I'll be back in an hour or so." He grinned at Spock, who raised an eyebrow. Then, he left the tent, backpack secure on his back and a small smile on his face that really had no good reason to be there.

A/N What did you think? Our boys have been feeling fairly reflective as of late. I promise the pace of the story will pick back up, but I really do enjoy writing their inner thoughts, especially when those thoughts are centered around each other. Anyway, thank you all so much for continuing to read and comment on this story! I love hearing your thoughts and predictions of what will come next!


	18. Thread of Thought

A/N What's this? Another chapter? Indeed! My morning schedule is lighter this week, so instead of getting up at 5 a.m. to do school stuff and such, I can get up at 5 a.m. to write my fanfiction. Hopefully, my schedule will stay light for the rest of the week, but I doubt that will be the case... Still, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Spock watched Jim leave the tent, a small frown pulling at his lips. There was something off about the man's behavior, although Spock couldn't tell what exactly it was that was out of place. Jim was hiding something from him. In a typical situation, that wouldn't have bothered Spock as the man was entitled to the right to conceal aspects of his life and emotions, but their current circumstances made things different. There was little for Jim to hide, and so whatever it was likely had considerable significance.

But that was a problem for later. Right now, he needed to devote his attention to preparing to leave their current shelter.

When he had suggested seeking new shelter in the mountains, he had expected Jim to protest more than the man had. After all, he had spent considerable time creating what they now had only to throw it away. Spock had known his argument was logical, however, and had been prepared to defend it if necessary, but Jim had agreed quickly. For some reason, that too felt wrong.

Shaking his head to clear it, Spock turned his attention to the various plant fronds around him. He had managed to create a crude needle from a splinter of bark from a Rekka tree and used it to create several bags that would allow them to more easily carry their supplies to the next location. Now, Spock picked up one of the softer fronds.

It was a darker grey than the ones that he and Jim had used to construct their shelter and was not as sturdy. However, it was much softer, the leaves similar in texture to fur. With this in mind, Spock had decided to attempt to create some form of coat to further insulate himself from the cold that would only get worse as they entered the mountains. It was unlikely he would be able to finish the task before they left tomorrow, but he would be able to make considerable headway on it in the intervening time.

As he worked, Spock found his mind returning to the question of Jim's behavior and his own behavior over the past day. Their interactions had certainly been...different from what they typically were, but that could be considered natural considered their atypical circumstances. It was a thought he had pondered without much success several times already, and he had accepted the futility of attempting to smother it. Instead, he allowed it to linger in the back of his mind as he worked, a part of his attention always devoted to it. Still, when Jim returned an hour and twelve minutes later, he found himself no closer to an answer than he had been before, a fact that did not truly surprise him.

"Wow, Spock," Jim said, whistling—something Spock had learned was most often either a sign of boredom, happiness, or approval and in this case most likely the latter—as he finished the words. "That's pretty impressive. I didn't know you could sew."

Spock glanced down at the partially completed garment in his hands. It was a somewhat exceptional demonstration of his abilities considering the lack of conventional materials, he supposed, but he hesitated to give it much value before testing to see if it truly worked. Thus far he had only completed a small portion of the coat, but it was enough for it to be recognizable as such.

"It is a skill my mother taught me," he said, looking up at Jim, who was hunched over above him, peering down at the garment in his lap. "She believed that the mind was sharpened when the hands were busy, and thus taught me a skill that was both useful and contained patterns for my mind to follow while occupied with other tasks as well. I have not practiced in several years, however."

Jim nodded, finally taking off his—now full—backpack and sitting down. "Your mother is a smart woman. That much was obvious when I first met her, but hearing you talk about her only reinforces it. I wish I had the chance to get to know her better," Jim said, and Spock saw a somewhat glazed look come to his eyes and he knew the man was remembering the events that had occurred when his mother and father had been aboard the Enterprise six weeks ago. "I still can't believe you didn't tell me that Ambassador Sarek was your father."

Despite the fact that the incident had occurred some time ago, Spock felt heat threaten to rise to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He forced it down before saying, "I truly did not consider the information relevant, something I now realize was an error on my part."

Jim smiled. "I know."

There was silence for a few moments, and Spock allowed himself to look over the man sitting across from him. Overall, Jim appeared to be continuing to improve in health. The time outside in the sunlight seemed to be doing him good; his skin was no longer as pale and sickly as it had been a few days before. The bags under his eyes had also lessened, and there was a brightness in them that had been dull previously.

But he was not whole yet. He had lost weight over the past several days, and while it wasn't yet enough to be cause for alarm, it was indicative of their present needy state. His arms also bore a few new scrapes and cuts, and the bandages on his shoulders and around his torso were beginning to become soiled and unsanitary.

"It would be wise to change your bandages before we leave tomorrow, as we may not have the chance to do so again for some time as we move," Spock suggested. "It would also afford you an opportunity to bathe in the stream if you still desire to do so."

Jim's eyes widened slightly, and a minuscule grin pulled at his lips. "I'd like that," he agreed, but the grin soon fell from his face. "Are you sure we have enough supplies though? There's no telling what's going to happen to us when we move. We might need those bandages later."

"We do not know what will occur in the future," Spock admitted with a small nod. "However, as such, we do not know that we will require the medical supplies any more at a later date than we do now. It is illogical to refrain from necessary action in the present because of a possible future disaster."

A quiet chuckle escaped Jim's lips, his eyes twinkling. "Very well, Mr. Spock, you've convinced me. I'm going to take a dip in the stream, and when I'm finished, you can bandage me back up."

Spock nodded in understanding. "Take care not to treat the wounds on your stomach too abrasively. We still do not know the full extent of the Okko powder's effects."

"Will do," Jim promised, standing and giving Spock one last grin before leaving the tent. A few minutes later, Spock heard the distinct splash of water followed by a quiet exclamation of surprise as his captain stepped into the cold water.

Half an hour later, Spock heard Jim call his name. "You can come out now, Spock! I promise I'm decent!"

The tiniest of smiles crept onto Spock's face as he grabbed the medical supplies, stood, and stooped toward the exit. There was a note of joy in Jim's voice, something that had been missing for some time. Hearing its presence now was uplifting. Even though they were stranded on an unfamiliar and largely hostile planet with no certainty of what their future would hold, Jim found a reason for joy. An illogical reason, perhaps, but a reason nonetheless.

Spock stepped out of the tent and was met with the sight of Jim sitting bare-chested on a rock next to the stream. The top half of his heavy robe lay across another stone, it's fabric soaking wet. Evidently, the man had decided to use it as a towel. Thankfully, Jim didn't seem bothered by the cool air, however, and as Spock approached, Jim shifted to face him, a grin on his lips.

"Never let me complain about the sonic showers on the Enterprise again, Spock," he requested with a laugh. "At least they aren't a few degrees above freezing. I guess it's true what they say, you don't miss something until it's gone." He laughed again and gestured for Spock to join him on the large rock. Spock did so, settling onto his knees so that he would be better able to shift positions as he bandaged Jim's wounds once more.

"I have found that is often the case, yes," he said as he knelt down and began to pull out the bandages and medicine from his bag. "However, I have also seen that at times, people will exaggerate the positive attributes of something that they no longer have and remember it with more fondness than it might warrant."

Another laugh fell from Jim's lips, and Spock irrationally wished that he could hear that sound constantly. "Very true. I'm probably remembering the sonic showers through a distorted view of some kind. Either way, that stream is cold, but I am now clean. Well, as clean as I can be without any soap."

Spock felt another smile tug at his lips, and it took a good deal of effort to force his features to remain neutral. His eyes, however, crinkled slightly, a sign of amusement so small that few people rarely noticed or understood it. Jim, however, had always been exceptional at reading him and grinned in response.

There was a brief moment of shared happiness, and then Spock turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "I am going to remove your old bandages," he said, his hands hovering over the cloth on the man's stomach. He looked back up and caught Jim's eyes. "If I cause you pain, do not hesitate to alert me. Your wounds are still healing, and I do not want to cause you harm."

Jim's lips quirked upward in a crooked smile. There was something in his face, some emotion, that Spock couldn't put a name to, even when he spoke. "You never have." His eyes swept over Spock's arm, and the Vulcan realized he was remembering the last time that he had done this. The bruise had disappeared completely, but the look in Jim's eyes told him that the man still hadn't forgiven himself.

Reaching out, Spock placed a gentle hand on Jim's arm, hoping the physical contact would calm the man. Instead, he flinched away from the contact, and Spock had to push down the ache that crept in at the action, focusing instead on his words.

"Jim," he said quietly, allowing some of his emotion to slip into his voice, "as I stated before, you did not intentionally cause me harm, and it is healed. Let it go."

The man looked at him for several long seconds, his brown eyes glowing in the light of the sun and swirling with a myriad of emotions. Finally, he nodded. "I'll try." The words were quiet, and Spock doubted that the man would truly relinquish his guilt, but he decided to accept the small victory for what it was. "Carry on, Spock."

Spock gazed at him for a moment longer before nodding and beginning his work. It took four minutes and thirteen seconds to carefully unwind and discard all of the used bandages, during which time Spock had to force down several unsavory emotions that rose within him at the sight of Jim's wounds.

Since the cuts on his torso were shallow, they were beginning to scab over, but a few of them had not begun the process yet, and the skin around all of them was still red and tender. How Spock wished he could punish the ones responsible for doing this to Jim! But he controlled his rage, pushing it back to the dark part of his mind that he refused to trod except in careful meditation and instead grabbed the jar of medicine.

Jim stayed silent as Spock spread the cream over the man's wounds with one finger, carefully coating each angry slash with the soothing medicine. As he did so, a memory rose in his mind of Jim doing the same for him not long ago, except the man had used two fingers, both ghosting over his bare skin...

Almost as soon as the memory surfaced, Spock shoved it away, hoping that his embarrassment wouldn't find expression on his face. He knew that his captain hadn't meant anything by the gesture, and it was only Spock's own lack of control that had conjured the suggestion. In either case, the gesture could hardly be considered an Ozh'esta. It was simply illogical to dwell on it any further.

"Spock? What's wrong? I'm not bombarding your thoughts with mine again, am I?" Jim's voice was concerned, and Spock quickly looked up at him, schooling his features into a neutral expression.

"No, you are not. My mental shields have recovered sufficiently," he reassured, and Jim let out a quiet sigh of relief, his posture relaxing slightly. "I was simply distracted by my memories. I apologize for my inattention."

Jim nodded slowly. "No need to apologize, Spock. It seems this place has a way of drawing them out," he said, gazing past Spock to look into the forest beyond. After a few moments, he seemed to regain his focus, turning his attention back to Spock with a small smile. "What was on your mind?"

Spock hesitated. Jim wouldn't press him if he declined to answer, but it felt wrong to do so. Yet he could not divulge the true details of his memory. Eventually, he settled for saying, "I was simply remembering when our positions were reversed yesterday."

"Oh."

They fell into silence after that, and Spock didn't question why the man across from him no longer seemed interested in meeting his gaze. Instead, he focused his attention on his work, and within a quarter of an hour, he had medicated all of the wounds on the man's torso. Thankfully, they were healing well, so he had not needed to use much of the paste. The container was only one-third of the way full now, and the likelihood that at least one of them would require it again was high. He set aside the container carefully and pulled out the clean bandages. Their supply of these, too, was running out.

Slowly, his hands moving only a dozen centimeters at a time, Spock wrapped Jim's torso once more. Occasionally, Jim let out a quiet hiss as he pulled the bandage tight over his wounds, and he murmured apologies which the man only waved away. Eventually, his task was complete and he moved away, surveying his handiwork with a critical eye. Once he was satisfied that it was good enough, he stood and extended his hand to Jim. The man hesitated for an instant before grabbing it and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

"Thanks," he said quietly, that strange expression settling over his face once more. Now that Spock had more time to examine it, he was able to decipher some of the emotions it contained. There was guilt and resignation and something almost bittersweet there. Individually, Spock understood each of the emotions, but in this strange combination, he was lost.

"Jim..." he trailed off, not sure how to word the thoughts that were swirling and mixing in his mind. Part of him wanted to ask the man what was wrong, part of him wanted to provide reassurances, part of him wanted to tell him the truth of his earlier memory. In the end, he simply shook his head minutely. Jim regarded him for a few moments, that same expression still etched in his face before nodding, as if he somehow understood what Spock hadn't been able to say.

"Come on, Spock. I'm sure you want to get that coat you're making done," the man suggested, a small smile turning up his lips. But the smile was somehow sad, and Spock found himself wishing he could turn back time to less than an hour ago when there had been real joy in the man's grin.

"Indeed." Spock turned and followed Jim back to their shared tent, his mind still trying and failing to decode the emotions that he had seen and heard.

. . .

Jim ducked as he stepped inside the tent, careful to avoid hitting the top of the structure. His movements were somewhat stiff from sitting still so long while Spock took care of his wounds, but he managed to make it across the tent and sit without too much trouble. A few moments later, Spock stepped in, somehow managing to be the image of grace even as he stooped over. Then he took a seat on the other side of the tent and silently resumed his work on the coat he had been making.

For several minutes, Jim watched the Vulcan work, fascinated by the deft way the long fingers threaded the needle in and out of the plant fronds. Somehow, as he worked, the leaves began to take the appearance of cloth under the careful stitches. After several minutes, Jim realized that he was staring and quickly looked away, a blush burning his cheeks.

Spock had tried to say something earlier, just before they had stepped inside, and Jim had stopped him. He didn't know why. Likely because he was a coward. Spock could have been about to tell him that he had seen Jim's emotions for him, and Jim couldn't face that. He knew the truth, that Spock wouldn't be reciprocating his feelings, but that didn't stop those feelings. They wound through his mind, his soul even, and he knew there would be no getting rid of them. But if Spock said the words out loud, Jim would break. It was shameful, laughable, but it was true. If only—

"We must leave." Spock's quiet but urgent voice snapped Jim from his thoughts.

He blinked at the Vulcan a few times, not understanding what the man had said. Then, the words finally registered, and his eyes widened. "Why?"

"I hear a group approaching. They are still a ways off, and they are moving slowly, but they are moving in this direction," Spock explained, his head tilted to one side as he concentrated. "As we have seen little of interest or significance in these woods, it is logical to assume that they are looking for us."

Great.

"Okay. I'll grab the bags, you get whatever else you think we'll need." Spock nodded, and less than two minutes later, they were standing outside of the tent, looking out at the forest that was beginning to grow dark as the sun set over Reskar.

"Lead the way, Spock."

A/N Spock's turn for introspection! Turns out Jim isn't the only one hiding things (feelings). Thank you so much to everyone who had been reading/leaving reviews and comments for me! I love reading them and knowing that people are enjoying what I write. My friends think I'm crazy, because I'm always checking my e-mail to see if there are any new comments, and then I light up like a Christmas tree when I read them. Anyway, I just want you guys to know I appreciate you! Thanks again!


	19. The Search Party

A/N Another chapter! Enjoy!

Water splashed around Jim's ankles as he stepped into the stream. It was icy cold, even more so than when he had bathed in it a little over an hour before. As he moved, carefully placing one foot in front of the other where Spock had placed his, water began to leak into his worn boots, slowly flooding them and submerging his foot in the frigid liquid. He pushed the uncomfortable sensation away and forced himself to focus on the back of Spock's head, careful to do exactly as the Vulcan did.

"If we continue up the stream for another three hundred and ten meters, there is a bend that will obscure us from view," Spock reported, his voice barely louder than the rushing of the water they stood in. His entire body was tense and alert, reminding Jim of the way Earth cats often looked when stalking their prey, except now, they were the hunted rather than the hunters. The knowledge sent chills up Jim's spine that had nothing to do with the icy water they stood in. "Then we can turn north into the mountains."

"Lead the way," he replied just as quietly, praying that his anxiety hadn't seeped into his voice too openly.

Spock nodded and began to move, each step deliberate but swift, showing no signs of uncertainty or hesitation. If the situation had been different, Jim might have thanked the stars for a crewmember who acted so well under pressure. As it was, he simply followed, placing his own feet as near to where Spock placed his as he could manage.

For several minutes, they walked in near silence, the only noise coming from the water as it continued to rush downstream, muffling the sounds of their footsteps. Jim kept his eyes and ears alert, straining them for any sign of the Reskarians who were searching for them. He still hadn't heard them—a good sign, he supposed—but he trusted Spock's senses. If the Vulcan said there were people out there and they were searching for them, then there were. Not being able to see them, however, made Jim's skin tingle as if he were being watched from every direction at once. It was a feeling he often had as the captain, but rarely did it have such a malicious intent behind it.

The thought of being captured by the Reskarians again terrified Jim. He admitted to that—within the safety of his own mind—readily. Even now as they half-jogged up the stream, the cold wind and water combining to make him shiver, the cuts on his arms began to burn as if the Reskarian torturer was there slicing into him with that white-hot knife again. It was nothing more than phantom pain, Jim knew that, but it hurt, and it brought a wave of memories crashing into his mind, threatening to drown him in their sudden and furious intensity.

Almost as if he could sense that something was wrong, Spock came to a stop and glanced back, an eyebrow raised and head cocked at the degree that Jim had long ago learned to interpret to mean concern. A warm feeling spread through Jim's chest at the expression, and if they had had time, he would have—selfishly, oh so selfishly—enjoyed being the object of Spock's attention and worry. Right now, however, they had to keep moving.

"It's nothing," he assured, carefully keeping his voice low but injecting as much comfort into it as possible. "We need to keep moving."

For a moment, Jim saw the conflict on Spock's face as his brows drew together and his lips pulled down and his jaw clenched imperceptibly. Then, logic seemed to win out—over what, Jim wondered—and he nodded once before turning back around and continuing forward at a swifter pace than before.

After another minute or so of walking, Spock stopped suddenly, and Jim stumbled forward, almost crashing into him. The Vulcan stood stock-still, head barely tilted to one side as he listened for something far beyond Jim's human hearing.

"Someone is nearing our position, but they do not sound like a Reskarian," he whispered, and Jim felt his own muscles tense in anticipation of a fight. There was a pause as Spock listened again, and as Jim watched a strange expression flitted over the Vulcan's face but was concealed too quickly for him to have a hope of deciphering it. The expression that came next, however, Jim recognized immediately. Determination.

"Leave the stream here and head North," Spock ordered suddenly, his voice taking on a sharp, commanding quality. "The base of the mountains is about two kilometers away. If you can reach a higher elevation, it is doubtful that they will be able to track you there without the use of more powerful technology." The Vulcan handed him one of the two bags he was carrying as he spoke.

Jim accepted the bag without question and began to nod and before quickly freezing as he realized that Spock's instructions had been for him alone. "And what about you, Spock? I am not going to leave you here to get captured by these madmen again."

Spock turned around to face him, and for a moment the light in his eyes was almost soft. "Someone must distract the searchers and provide a false trail for them to follow. I am the best candidate for this."

"And what happens if they find you at the end of this false trail?" Jim had to work to keep his voice down as anger and fear began to creep into it. What did Spock think he was doing? The Vulcan was insane if he thought that he would let him sacrifice himself again.

"They will not. Go, Jim. I will find you once I am certain that the Reskarians are no longer following."

Jim looked into Spock's eyes, searching for any hint of deception. He found none. Ignoring the dread in his stomach that had begun to build the instant Spock had stopped in the middle of the stream, he nodded.

"Okay. Okay, Spock. But if you aren't back within three hours, I am going to come looking for you."

Spock's lips twitched upward in the smallest of smiles. "I would expect nothing less."

Jim nodded one more time, unwilling to actually leave his friend. But a few moments later, his feet seemed to move of their own accord, carrying him out of the water of the stream, stepping onto the bank and striding forward. By the time he looked back over his shoulder, Spock had vanished. Violently pushing aside the panic that was rising in him, Jim turned back and began to walk toward the mountains that loomed over him.

. . .

Spock ducked behind a tree, neatly avoiding being seen by the Reskarian only a dozen meters away. There were four of them in the search party from what he had seen, although none of them appeared to have any rank over the others, and he had seen no sign of the other being aside from hearing it walking in the distance every few minutes.

Working quickly, Spock tied the vine he held around the tree, pulling it tight. Then, he darted across to another tree and did the same before breaking off the vine. Once he was certain that the small trap was sturdy, he stepped into the open, instantly drawing the attention of the Reskarian soldier who was currently examining some of Spock's own tracks.

As soon as the man registered the fact that he was gazing at an escaped prisoner, he jumped to his feet and grabbed the phaser-like weapon from his belt. As he fired the weapon, Spock dashed to the side, and the shot impacted with a tree near where he had been standing, splintering the wood and causing it to hiss and burn. Evidently, the Reskarians did not have orders to take them in alive.

The Reskarian let out a loud curse and then charged forward, tripping over Spock's improvised wire a few meters later. In the same second that the soldier hit the ground, Spock sprung into action, quickly tying the man's feet and hands and taking the phaser from him. The soldier thrashed as he worked and let out a string of what Spock assumed to be rather vile curses before he pinched the man, sending him into unconsciousness. Now the threat was one less.

. . .

Jim moved as quickly as his tired feet would allow. The faster he moved, the more he had to focus on where he was stepping in order to avoid smacking into anything or tripping over any vines which meant he had less energy to focus on how Spock was faring. If he spent too much time in those thoughts, his fragile resolve would break, and he would turn around and run back to the Vulcan, something that was both illogical and pointless. All he would accomplish with that would be to put Spock in more danger than he was already in.

So instead, Jim pushed forward through the forest. The sun was nearly set now, and the trees cast long shadows over the ground, which was covered with less and less underbrush the further he walked. Eventually, the ground began to become rocky, and the trees began to grow differently. Instead of being tall and thin, these trees were twisted and lower to the ground, but hardier as well. They almost reminded Jim of the Joshua trees back on Earth but with more leaves. Underneath these trees, the shrubbery had been replaced by different kinds of bushes, these small and scraggly.

The incline was increasing as well. At first, Jim barely noticed, his mind going in a million other directions and allowing this detail to slip by. Eventually, however, Jim began to have difficulty walking without paying close attention to where he placed each step. As it grew darker, that task became more and more difficult, and more than once he found himself slipping for an instant before righting himself once more. After his third near-miss, he began to hold on to the bushes and tree branches as he climbed. The rough wood scraped at his hands, but he was able to climb far more easily.

He decided to follow the trees as he made his way up. They followed a sort of path where they were more closely packed, and he found that in those areas, the ground tended to be more level. It was while he was standing in the midst of one of these patches that he turned and looked back down over the dark forest below him and realized how far he had climbed. He had to be at least three hundred meters higher than he had been when he had started.

All at once his exhaustion, combined with his fear and anxiety, washed over him, and his legs wobbled nearly sending him to his knees. Blinking without really seeing, he dropped the bags he had been holding and sat down heavily, barely registering the rough texture of the rocks below him as they dug into his robe and skin.

He had gone as far as he would, as far as he could, without Spock. Now, he could only pray that the Vulcan would somehow manage to find him. Jim bowed his head as emotions welled up in his throat, choking his attempt to take a steadying breath. Equal parts panic and shame, Jim tried to swallow and force it away, but the sensation stayed lodged in his throat.

The odds were against Spock. They were being tracked, hunted, by people who certainly wanted them dead, or at least wanted to take them back to their leaders who had already proven that they could find punishments worse than death. And there was someone else out there, another enemy that Spock now had to avoid and draw away. Their initial capture might not have been Jim's fault, but if anything were to happen to Spock now, the blame would rest squarely on his shoulders.

. . .

A Klingon. The unknown member of the search party was a Klingon. Spock had known that the Reskarians had planned to include trade with the Klingons in their arrangement with Starfleet, but it had not occurred to him that friendly relations might already exist between the two. After all, there had been no suspicions of any ties with the Klingon Empire when they had first arrived on Reskar and the Ambassador's notes had made only a single mention of them, in which an alliance between the two was considered highly unlikely.

The tightening of the Klingon's fingers around Spock's throat ripped the Vulcan from his thoughts, and he braced his knees against his opponent's stomach and pushed, throwing the warrior off-balance and giving himself the time he needed to place himself in a more advantageous position.

He had attempted to trap the Klingon as he had the rest of the search party, but the man clearly had far more experience in guerrilla warfare tactics than the Reskarians had had, and he had seen the trip line and deftly avoided it. Once that had failed, Spock had resorted to trying the phaser he had taken from the first Reskarian, but the weapon had refused to fire. It was likely programmed to the Reskarian's individual biometrics.

A punch to his side—the opposite one to his heart, thankfully—forced Spock to shift positions, placing the Klingon in a headlock and increasing pressure. In response, his opponent bit down on his arm hard enough to draw blood. He pushed away the pain that welled up and instead moved his center of balance so that he was now able to place additional pressure on the Klingon's neck. After several moments, the warrior fell still, and Spock allowed himself to release his hold, the unconscious body slipping to the ground at his feet.

His breathing was ragged, and his vision was slightly blurred as if he were looking through a lens that had become fogged at the edges. It was almost a detached view as if he were standing outside of himself and observing the lack of control that threatened to overwhelm him. He could feel it boiling in his veins, reminiscent of the plak tow but somehow different. It was an odd sensation, this desire to give in to anger and rage. How easy it would be to allow his controls to slip...

"No." The word forced itself from between Spock's lips and into the air, his warm breath condensing in a white cloud due to the rapidly dropping temperature. "I am in control of my emotions." He said the words firmly and clearly, pushing aside the emotions that threatened to swallow him in a single purposeful action.

He stood there for a few more moments, carefully monitoring his breathing in an effort to keep his attention focused on something other than the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. Once he was able to breathe normally again with little effort, he stooped down and pulled both the long knife and communication device from the Klingon's belt. He was fortunate that the warrior had not been able to unsheathe the weapon while they had been grappling.

After tying the man's hands and feet as he had the others, Spock set off to the south, ignoring the frigid air as he began to lay a series of false tracks for the Reskarians, and Klingons it seemed, to follow. Doing so took him an excess of two hours, and by the time he had returned to the stream where he had parted from Jim, it was nearing midnight. His captain would be worrying about him by now if he hadn't been already, but if Spock had judged the man correctly—he hoped he had; Jim had been more and more difficult to decipher recently—he had obeyed his directions and likely stopped about three hundred meters up into the foothills.

In the darkness, it would be nearly impossible to tell which direction Jim had taken. Logically, the man should have followed the stream so as to be near a source of water, but that option was quickly discarded as Spock spotted a steep cliff and waterfall in the distance. It was doubtful that Jim had climbed such difficult terrain. Where had he gone?

For several long seconds, Spock stood still, trying to determine which direction to head in. If he chose wrong now, he could wind up over a kilometer from Jim in the darkness. Such an error would be detrimental, possibly fatal, to one or both of them, which he could not allow. But for some reason, he found that he was not concerned. Instead, Spock allowed his eyes to drift closed, and he surrendered his conscious control to something deeper.

There. Something in Spock told him to turn seven degrees to his right. He did so, pushing aside the part of his mind that railed against the total lack of logic in his decision. Opening his eyes, he took a few steps forward, and the strange feeling of warmth and peace persisted. A few more steps. Before long, Spock was making good time through the foothills, his steps lighter upon the rocks and roots than they had any right to be considering his physical state.

Half an hour later, Spock spotted a group of shadows that loomed differently than the rest. A small grouping of trees that seemed to be on ground more level than what he had been walking on before. Still following his strange feeling, Spock approached. Just as he was stepping up from one rock to a higher one, barely ten meters from the edge of the haggard grove, a freezing blast of wind hit him, knocking him off balance. One leg was caught between two rocks as he fell, and he felt something it crack painfully. His cry of pain, however, was cut short as his head made contact with the rocks below, and darkness swallowed him whole.

A/N I have gotten a lot of writing done this week! It's been great, honestly, but knowing my particular brand of karma, that means that next week is going to be crazy busy... However, for now, we shall celebrate! Thank you so much to everyone who has been leaving me comments and reviews! I really really love reading them. I was practically grinning like a fool all day yesterday as I replied to all the ones that I could. To those of you who are silently reading: thank you! I feel super lucky to have people who care about this story the way I do, so thank you all for your support! (Also, I apologize for my excessive use of cliffhangers. I really don't mean to end all of my chapters like this...it just kind of happens.)


	20. Twisted Trees and Hopeful Wings

Jim was shivering, and it had nothing to do with the biting cold. It was midnight by now, if not later, and there was no sign of Spock. He had thought for a moment an hour ago that he heard Spock calling his name, but that had proven to be nothing more than a figment of his anxious mind. For a while, he had been pacing, but his nerves had frayed to the point that he could hardly stand without crumpling to the ground again. And so he sat beneath the limbs of these strange and twisted trees and inwardly berated himself for all of the things that he had done wrong.

Stars above, he never should have left Spock! That thought—and that thought alone—rattled around and bounced off the walls of his mind, each collision coming with a stab of self-loathing and regret. Eventually, he barely registered his surroundings anymore, almost completely absorbed by the dark void of his own mind, his only thought taunting him in his weakness.

It was like some kind of terrible survivor's guilt—no, don't call it that, don't call it that—and it weighed on his mind so heavily that he wanted to scream, but he somehow knew that no sound would come out if he tried. It washed over him in waves. When each hit, it forced him under the water, and by the time he fought his way back to the top and his mind began to gasp for needed air, another would hit him, pull him into the black water once more. It was a vicious cycle, and he deserved every moment of it for what he did.

Then he heard it. A cry of pain that stopped just as abruptly as it had started, coupled with the sound of something heavy hitting the rocky ground not far away. Breaking through the waves, pushing himself out of the dark spiral of his mind, Jim jumped to his feet before truly registering what that sound could mean. Part of his brain warned that the sound didn't necessarily mean Spock, that he could be putting himself into danger. Another part warned that even if it was Spock, he might not like what he found. But he pushed those thoughts away without considering them for longer than an instant. Instead, he dashed through the treeline, quickly making his way toward where the sound had come from.

There, lying less than a dozen meters from the edge of the grove, was Spock. For a moment, Jim's breath caught in his throat and his feet froze. Under the cold light of the moon, the Vulcan almost appeared lifeless, his pale skin drawn tightly across a face completely devoid of emotion or thought and his intelligent eyes closed. Refusing to believe that what his eyes told him was the truth, Jim forced his feet to move once more and quickly picked his way across the rocks to kneel at Spock's side.

Now that he was close to the Vulcan, he could see the man's chest rising slowly and shallowly, a sure sign that the moonlight had only been playing a cruel trick on his eyes. However, Spock was far from fine. Sticky green blood had created a small pool on the rocks under his head, and one of his legs was caught between two almost-boulders, bent at an unnatural angle. His arms, too, bore signs of abuse in a pattern that almost looked like Spock had been bitten by some kind of feral creature. But he was alive, and Jim thanked the stars and anyone else who was listening for that.

After a few minutes of alternating pushing and pulling, he was able to separate the two rocks that sandwiched Spock's broken leg. When the pressure being placed on the limb was finally removed, Spock let out a low groan of pain that pierced Jim's soul. It was a sound he had heard from his stoic First Officer and friend far too many times within the past several days, and some grim part of his mind warned him that he would likely hear it many more before they managed to find a way out of this.

Once he had freed the leg, Jim found himself at an impasse. He knew that moving someone who could have suffered brain damage was dangerous, but he also knew that he needed to get Spock somewhere more sheltered than here. Already, he could see the way that the cold was affecting the Vulcan in the discoloration of his hands and nose. If he left him here exposed to the harsh wind and whatever else nature felt like throwing at them, the Vulcan might literally freeze to death.

After a few more moments of indecision, Jim made up his mind. He had to move Spock. Slipping his arms under the Vulcan, one supporting his neck to keep his head as still as possible, Jim lifted him off of the freezing rocks, instinctively pulling him close to his chest. Once Spock was secure, Jim began to slowly climb his way back to the small grove of trees, carefully placing one foot in front of the other and trying his hardest to avoid jostling Spock.

The trees provided some shelter from the frigid wind, and when Jim set Spock down he made sure to do so in a patch of ground that was more protected than the rest. Still, it was nothing like their tent had been earlier, and Jim mentally kicked himself for not starting on some kind of shelter while he had been waiting for Spock to find him. It was too late for such thoughts now though, and so Jim turned his mind to something more productive.

The two biggest problems were Spock's head injury and his broken leg. Since Jim didn't know what else he could do to treat the head wound aside from immobilizing Spock's head to the best of his abilities, he focused on the leg. It appeared to be a simple fracture: he didn't see any bone breaking through the skin anywhere. That meant that it would be easier for Spock's Vulcan healing to fix. Unfortunately, that same healing meant that he had to set the bone now before Spock's body healed in the wrong position.

"Hey, Spock. It's me," he said quietly, pushing the fear from his voice and forcing a smile onto his face. "You broke your leg when you fell—what happened to that Vulcan sense of balance, huh? Anyway, I need to set the bone, and it's going to hurt." He thought about apologizing too, but that would have been illogical. Although so was talking to someone who couldn't hear him...

Shaking his head, Jim took a deep breath, the cold air stinging his lungs. He forced himself to slow down his mind and fall into the role of Captain, the one that knew how to handle situations like this, the one who had done it before without so much as blinking.

Bracing his hands on either side of Spock's leg, Jim took a deep breath and pushed. Any noise made by the bone moving back into place was overshadowed by the loud groan of pain that fell from Spock's lips. Looking up, Jim saw that his forehead was beaded with sweat despite the cold temperature, and his eyebrows were drawn together in pain. It was an expression so foreign on the Vulcan's face that Jim almost couldn't believe that the man lying there truly was Spock. But then he opened his eyes.

"Careful, careful! Don't move, Spock," Jim said quickly, shifting so that the Vulcan wouldn't have to move his head at all to see him. "You hit your head and broke your fibula when you fell. I set the bone, but you likely have a concussion, so you need to be careful."

For several moments, Spock simply blinked up at him, as if he were trying to see Jim through a fog in his mind. Finally, just as Jim was beginning to feel panic seep in once again, he said, "Thank you, Jim." Jim's throat was too clogged with emotions for him to force words from it, so he simply shook his head. He hadn't done anything deserving of a thank you. Eventually, he was able to force the lump in his throat down enough to say,

"I'm going to make a splint for your leg and clean and bandage that wound on your arm." Then he glanced to the side, suddenly feeling inadequate. "I'm not Bones, though; I don't know enough about concussions to know whether or not I can let you keep sleeping or if you need to stay awake."

There was silence for a few moments as a look of intense concentration settled on Spock's face, almost managing to overshadow the pain there. Finally, he spoke once more, the words slow and deliberate. "The concussion is mild. I do not believe sleep would have any negative impact. It is likely that my body will place itself into a healing trance, however, so do not be distressed if you cannot wake me."

"Alright." Even in his injured state, Jim trusted Spock's self-evaluation. "Then try to sleep while I work. There's no sense in being awake if you don't have to be, especially if you can use your healing trance instead."

Spock didn't reply, but his eyes drifted closed, which Jim decided to take as his answer. Stars, he hoped Spock was right about the concussion being mild. If he had suffered any brain damage—no. Jim pushed that thought away instantly, refusing to even consider it. Instead, he turned his attention to Spock's broken leg once more. He had work to do.

An hour later, Jim had created a splint for Spock's leg using a few of the straightest tree branches he could find and those thin vines that they had in their bags. He had also bandaged the strange wound on his arm. It definitely looked like something had bit the Vulcan, but it wasn't incredibly deep, so Jim decided that questions could wait until the morning. A few sounds of pain had slipped from Spock's lips as he worked, but now he seemed to be sleeping, although every minute or so a shiver would wrack his body as a gust of air made it through the branches of the trees.

Jim hesitated to lie down next to his friend. He was tired, exhausted even, but he wasn't sure that this was the best decision. Spock needed someone to look out for him in case his concussion turned out to be worse than he thought, and Jim couldn't be sure that he wouldn't somehow injure Spock further in the night with his octopus-like sleeping habits.

But then another burst of freezing wind swept through the grove, and Spock shivered so violently Jim began to worry about the movement affecting his concussion. He couldn't let Spock continue to freeze. With an inward sigh, he stood and shrugged off his heavy top robe. Immediately, the flesh on his arms rose and he began to shiver in the cold air.

Lowering himself slowly to the ground, Jim was careful to avoid laying too close to Spock, and he purposefully chose the side opposite the man's broken leg. Rocks dug into his unprotected side as he shifted to find the best position, and he soon gave up, accepting the fact that there was nothing comfortable about the ground they were laying upon. Once he came to that conclusion, he pulled his heavy robe over both he and Spock, praying that it would provide the Vulcan with the extra layer of protection from the cold that he obviously needed.

The robe wasn't really big enough for the two of them, and the wind beat against Jim's exposed back, keeping him from any kind of restful sleep. But as the night wore on, Spock's features relaxed slightly, and he turned his upper body toward Jim's. After a brief moment of hesitation, Jim laid his arm over Spock's torso and shifted closer to him, allowing his body heat to warm the freezing Vulcan. They stayed in that position for hours, and eventually, just as the sun was beginning to peek above the horizon, Jim drifted to sleep.

. . .

Jim was woken by a quiet sound. At first, he couldn't place it, and he kept his eyes closed to focus on the sound. Then it came again; a soft, trilling coo. Almost like...Jim opened his eyes. There, sitting on one of the lower branches of a tree three meters or so away, was a small dove-like bird. For several moments, Jim stared at it, transfixed. He and Spock had thought that there were no animals or birds in this area, and yet here it was.

It wasn't truly a dove, of course. Its coloring was much different, a kind of pale yellow with a grey ring around its neck and at the tips of its wings. It was skinnier as well, somehow more elegant in its sleekness, but part of Jim wondered if that sleekness was common in these birds or if it was due to hunger.

The bird cocked its head and looked at Jim with a beady eye, and he met its gaze. They stayed like that for several moments, as if somehow they were communicating without words on a deeper, primal level. And then a gust of wind—much warmer than it had been the night before and coming from the east instead of the north—shook the trees, and the bird took flight, gracefully spreading its wings and riding the wind to the west, away from Jim.

Sighing, Jim let his eyes slip closed once more, although he knew he would not be falling asleep. It was nearly ten o'clock if he was reading the sun's position right, and he needed to get to work to make them a shelter of some kind. But he would do that in a moment. For now, he simply laid back and enjoyed the feeling of lying next to Spock.

The Vulcan had hardly moved at all in the night except to pull himself closer to Jim's body heat. 'And that's all that is,' he rebuked himself sternly when his mind began to wander down an all-too-pleasing and all-too-pointless path. Jim, for his part, hadn't moved much either. Apparently, his inner octopus was satisfied with having one arm around Spock, for which he was very grateful. He had woken completely tangled in his partners' limbs before, not that Spock was a partner. Well, he was, but not in that sense. That is—

Jim let out a low groan, frustrated with his own mind. Stars above! If he couldn't get his own brain in order, how was he supposed to make the decisions that needed to be made? It was a good thing Spock couldn't see how much of a mess he was. The Vulcan would probably have some kind of heart attack or something from the amount of illogic flowing through Jim's brain right now.

Spock couldn't see his thoughts. Right?

Suddenly, Jim was hyper aware of every place where his body touched Spock's. The man was injured, and while it didn't seem to be as bad as the last time, there was still the possibility that the pain was enough to lower Spock's mental shields. And he had suffered a concussion, and Jim had no idea what kind of damage an injury like that could do to the Vulcan's control over his touch telepathy.

With those uncomfortable thoughts in mind, Jim slowly extracted himself from Spock's side, gently draping his heavy robe over the Vulcan once more. An odd expression crossed Spock's face for a moment—a sort of sorrow Jim thought—before being swallowed once more by the vacant look of sleep.

For a moment, Jim simply gazed down at the Vulcan. His emotions tumbled within him, so numerous and conflicting that if he tried to examine any of them individually he knew he would go insane in the effort to extract the one from the many. But there was one stronger than the rest. No, stronger wasn't the right word. There was one uniting the rest; undercutting each complicated emotion was one unifying feeling. It felt strange to give this emotion a name—it was so much bigger than what any simple word and its definition could possibly encompass—but in his mind, he called it love.

He turned away, forcing his eyes to focus on something, anything, else.

Part of him wanted to laugh at himself for being such a hopeless romantic, but he refrained. His mother had once told him that it was the Romantic authors and poets who made literature endure, the stories of love and light that made sure that written language was never forgotten. He had believed her then, and a part of him still believed her now. But she had never said anything about bittersweet stories, the ones that didn't end in love or terrible heartbreak but only a kind of painful happiness. What about those storytellers? He had read of starcrossed love—a phrase so apt he couldn't help the bitter chuckle that rose and tumbled from his lips—but he was no Romeo.

Glancing back at Spock, all of the tightly wound fear and anxiety and loneliness melted away. Once, he had laughed at the words of people who had said that sometimes simply being close to love was enough. Now, he realized how right they were. It was enough and never enough, and it was all Jim could ever ask for. His First Officer, his best friend, his...soul.

A deep sigh escaped Jim's lips, followed by another chuckle, this one less bitter and more amused with himself. He really had it bad, didn't he? Bones had told him as much, but he had never believed his old friend, convinced that the Southern doctor was seeing things that weren't there. He should have known better. Shaking his head, Jim pushed those thoughts away for another time and got to work.

A/N Well, I hope you liked the chapter! It's a little shorter than normal, I think, but I didn't feel right continuing it. Thank you so much for reading, and remember, I always love hearing from you!


	21. Sew Many Problems

Jim worked throughout the day to create a shelter for them, once more centering the structure around the Vulcan's sleeping form. Around noon, he began to worry that he had made a mistake in allowing Spock to sleep so soon after his blow to the head since he still hadn't woken from his healing trance, but when he had checked on the Vulcan, everything had seemed normal, and his expression had been relaxed, so Jim had forced himself to stay calm and keep working.

This shelter was different from the one he had built before as it incorporated far more branches, making it much sturdier. The leaves of these trees were nowhere near the size that he needed to make the covering for the shelter, but thankfully there were several large-leafed plants not too far from the tree grove that he was able to use. He felt bad, destroying so much of the flora around him, but he was quickly reminded of the necessity of his actions any time a particularly sharp wind blew.

They really weren't very far up the side of the mountains—even if the climb the night before had seemed to take hours—but the temperature difference was obvious and would likely only get worse the higher they climbed. Jim didn't see any snow nearby, but he knew that during the night it was cold enough if there was any precipitation. The thought of Spock lying in the snow served to hasten his efforts, and Jim managed to finish the shelter, or at least finish it enough so that the wind didn't whistle through it with every new gust, around six p.m.

Almost as soon as he stopped moving, his stomach growled loudly, pointedly making his hunger known. Unfortunately, he hadn't had the time to go looking for anything more edible than the Rekka nuts, and so he resigned himself to eating a few handfuls of the disgusting things. As he chewed, he turned his attention to anything that would distract himself from the flavor, and of course, his mind chose Spock as his focus.

Unlike previous times he had found his mind wandering to the Vulcan—an occurrence that was becoming more and more common he realized—his thoughts didn't settle on anything in particular. Instead, they played like an ancient motion picture in his mind, jerking from one frame to the next and following no particular order. He allowed them to do so and let himself be carried away in them, not truly paying them much attention and instead finding himself swallowed up by the feeling that they radiated.

It was strangely comforting.

Not all of the images and memories and half-thoughts were good ones. In fact, a large number of them were snapshots of moments gone horribly wrong, moments when Jim had been certain that nothing could be worse than what they had been facing. And yet they all gave him the same feeling of comfort. The same feeling of Spock.

He allowed himself to sink into that feeling for longer than he probably should have, only forcing his mind to focus back onto the here and now after at least half an hour of wandering. Once he was refocused, he decided to turn his energy—not there was much of that left, but he couldn't sleep now at any rate—to Spock's coat.

The Vulcan hadn't gotten very far on the garment before they had been forced to leave their previous shelter behind, only far enough for Jim to recognize what it was supposed to be when it was finished and know how to get it there. Deciding that he could at least attempt to make himself useful, he grabbed the bag that he knew had the supplies for the coat in it and stepped out of their makeshift shelter.

There wasn't much light left in the day, maybe an hour or two, but Jim sat down to work anyway. For a few moments, he simply held the crude needle and thread in his hand, gazing at it. Suddenly, he let out a chuckle, the sudden sound the only one he had made that day aside from a few grunts and groans whenever he had strained himself while working on the shelter. Only Spock would have thought to make clothes out of leaves and vines while using a splinter as a needle. It was just one more example of the Vulcan's ingenuity that Jim was so grateful to have.

Once his mirth subsided, Jim began to work. As he pushed the needle through the leaves and pulled the thin vine through, a memory of his instruction in the art—although what Jim made could rarely be called such—rose to the forefront of his mind.

Unlike Spock, Jim hadn't learned to sew as a child from his mother. Winona Kirk was many things, but a seamstress was not one of them. No, Jim had learned during his time at the Academy. It had been an older man who had taught him, a man named Gil...something. Jim wasn't sure he had ever learned his last name.

He had met Gil at a small coffee shop a few blocks from the Academy one day and had seen him repairing an old Starfleet uniform. Out of curiosity and because he had the time to kill, Jim had asked him where he had learned the skill. The man had responded with a tale about a time he had been stranded on a planet with a few other Ensigns after a mission gone bad. The wayward group had been stuck for weeks, and they had quickly found themselves in need of clothing. Only one of the group knew how to sew, and so she taught the rest of them. When Starfleet had finally picked them up, they were in completely new outfits. Gil had laughed as he told the story, and Jim had laughed with him, but he could see the usefulness of the skill and so he had asked the man to teach him. Gil agreed, and for a few months, they met up in the little cafe whenever Jim had time to spare from his classes.

He had learned a lot during those nights, and not just about sewing. Gil had never been in a command position while he had served in Starfleet, but he had plenty of insights on the various leaders he had followed. With each story, Jim learned a little bit more about what it meant to be on a starship, what it meant to be a part of a crew, before even stepping aboard.

Gil had also taught him another important thing: a starship was no place for a romance. The old men had told him that the first rule of space was to avoid romantic entanglement while aboard a starship. The problem with mixing starships and love, he had always said, was that the living, breathing lover never understood the reality of the metal one. A woman, or man, couldn't understand the way the starship claimed his attention and refused to ever let it go. It owned a piece of his heart and soul that they could not touch. And that was something Jim had always understood, even before he had ever set eyes on his Silver Lady.

The lessons with Gil had ended suddenly one winter day when Jim showed up at the cafe like they had arranged to do several days earlier only to be informed by the motherly barista that Gil had died in his sleep the night before. Jim hadn't been able to hadn't been able togo to the funeral, but he did keep up his sewing skills in honor of the old man. He had never had a chance to use them in the field before today, however.

What would Gil think, he wondered, if he saw him now? Sitting here, sewing a coat for a Vulcan he was absolutely smitten with but too afraid to confront. He would laugh at him, probably. Laugh and then remind him about the first rule of space.

This situation was different, though. Spock understood what it was like to be irrevocably tied to a hunk of metal floating between the stars, even if he would never describe it as such. He knew that Jim would never be able to leave the stars behind, and Jim had a feeling that the Vulcan didn't want to either. So the first rule didn't apply. Right?

Blinking wearily, Jim forced his mind away from that train of thought and focused instead on the garment in his hands. His stitches, half hidden in the dimming light, were no where near as fine as Spock's had been, but they did their job well enough. Despite still being far from complete, the cost was looking more and more like an article of clothing, albeit a strange, patchwork one. The sun was almost completely set now making any further work impossible, so Jim carefully folded the coat up and tucked it into the backpack once more before heading back to the shelter.

When he ducked inside, he half-expected to find Spock sitting up and staring at him with his head slightly cocked and one eyebrow raised in a silent question of where he had been and what he had been doing, but instead, he was greeted with the sight of the Vulcan curled on his side, eyes still closed in sleep.

With a sigh, Jim sat on the ground next to him, not laying down just yet. The second he did so, some of the uncertainty from earlier this morning arose once more. How much of his thoughts would Spock see if he lay down? It wasn't so cold that the Vulcan would be in danger if Jim didn't sleep nearby, but the second that thought entered his mind Jim's stomach clenched and he rejected it. Not in danger and comfortable were two very different things.

Not long ago, he had almost hoped that Spock could see his thoughts, feel his feelings, but the Vulcan hadn't, or at least Jim didn't think he had. In all honesty, the situation they were in now wasn't much different. Spock's shields might be a little bit weaker with his mind focused on healing his body, but Jim had a sneaking suspicion that even in a trance like this one, the Vulcan set aside energy with the express purpose of maintaining his mental barriers.

Still, the uneasy feeling refused to leave Jim, and so he simply sat cross-legged and thought. He had done a lot of that today, thinking. In fact, he had done a lot of that ever since they had been captured by the Reskarians. Maybe if he had done more of it before they wouldn't be in this situation, but as it was, there really wasn't much else for him to do but think. It was an odd thing.

He had heard the rumors about himself, of course, when people thought he wasn't listening—Spock had even brought a few of them to his attention onceor twice—that he was too young to be a starship captain, that he didn't slow down and think about the consequences. Those rumors had largely subsided as he had proven time and time again that he knew what he was doing—even when he really didn't, when it was only Spock's or Scotty's or Bones's ingenuity that got them to the other side with nothing more than a few scrapes—but they did exist. They would flare up again after this disaster of a mission, no doubt, if he and Spock ever got off this rock.

But Jim did think. The thing that confused people was how he thought. He was an active strategist, always thinking on his feet, willing and able to change course in an instant if the situation called for it. And that was why his and Spock's situation now bothered him so much. There was nothing for him to do. They were stranded with no way to call for help, and all they could do was wait. Wait and hide.

It almost made Jim want to go looking for a fight, although he knew that it would end in ruin for both him and Spock. He itched to do something, anything, to stay busy and focused. Without a task to focus on, his mind had a habit of drifting into dark territory that Jim did his best to steer clear of. Like now. He was overanalyzing his tendency to overanalyze for crying out loud! Stars, he needed to get back on the Enterprise and—

Jim's thoughts were cut off by a slight movement to his right. He turned and saw Spock attempting to sit up, concern written plainly across his too-pale features.

. . .

Surrendering to the healing trance had been much easier this time. Spock wasn't certain why that was the case: if it had something to do with his exhaustion, his safety, or the particular nature of his wounds, but regardless of the reason, he was able to slip into the trance with little difficulty.

As always, time was abstract while he was in this state, and his mind was disconnected. He had difficulty stringing ideas together long enough for them to carry mesning of any consequence, and he could not follow one thought to another with much success. However, he could feel, and it was a strange experience.

It was easy to tell when Jim was near him and when the man had moved away. His mental shields were weakened, of course, but not in a way that allowed him to see any particulars of what was going through his captain's mind. Instead, the man seemed to give off an aura that pulsed in the darkness of Spock's trance, giving him something to anchor to in the thoughtless void. The aura gave off abstract impressions of what the man was feeling, but Spock couldn't grasp them long enough to define and categorize them, and they slipped away as easily as they had come.

After an indiscernible amount of time—if Spock had been more aware, he might have found the fact that he could not measure how long he had been in the trance concerning; as it was, he could barely understand that there was something to understand—the aura around Jim changed. It had faded significantly for some time while the man was away, but now that it had returned, it had taken on a darker tone.

Spock couldn't describe it, couldn't understand or categorize it, beyond the feeling of wrong. This was not right. Jim was not supposed to feel like this. This was not right!

With that thought grasped firmly in his conscious—he refused to let it be swallowed by his empty mind like all the others—Spock fought his way up through the mire of his subconscious to the surface, to awareness. Opening his eyes, he looked up and saw Jim.

Instantly, Spock began to push himself into a sitting position so that he could be eye-level with the man sitting next to him. The man's face was twisted into a distant melancholy that teetered on the edge of something darker, and Spock could instantly understand why this feeling had been strong enough to pierce the haze of his trance. Whatever it was his captain was thinking about, it was weighing heavily on him, heavily enough for him to subconsciously project his emotion.

Then, Jim noticed his movements, and a smile covered the expression. It was almost a true smile, but it lacked some of the brilliance that made his expressions so fascinating. Still, there was some measure of truth in the happiness in his voice when he spoke.

"Spock! I'm glad to see you're awake! You've been out for almost...18 hours, I think, maybe more," he said, placing one hand on Spock's back and one on his chest to help him sit up. Once he was in that position, however, Spock found that he had difficulty bracing himself, an after effect of the mind-body disconnect that occured during the trance. Jim noticed instantly and gently maneuvered Spock until the Vulcan was leaning on his bare chest. Spock thought of protesting the position, but he knew that such an action would be futile, and he did not truly have the energy to make any logical arguments to back up his stance in the discussion he knew would follow.

Seeing that Spock wasn't going to try and move except to shift so that he could look Jim in the eyes, Jim smiled and reached behind himself to grab something. A moment later, the man's heavy robe was resting over Spock, another layer of warmth that the Vulcan didn't realize he needed until that moment.

"Thank you, Jim. However, I do not want to deprive you of the warmth that you need," Spock said, his voice quiet and scratchy from its lack of use.

"Don't mention it. I'm fine, I promise. Besides, the wind's the real problem, and there isn't much of that now that I got the shelter up," he replied, grinning again, and this time, that brilliance was there, shining at Spock and warming him even more than the robe did.

"Once again, you have managed to create a functioning shelter while I was in my trance. It is most impressive."

Jim must have heard some of the self-reproach in his voice, for he shook his head. "Don't, Spock. Don't beat yourself up. You're the one who lured away the search party doing who knows what. Finding a way to keep us safe from the wind was the least I could do."

Spock knew better to argue, so he simply inclined his head in acceptance of the man's logic. After a few moments of silence, he said, "The other presence I detected was a Klingon warrior. I believe that Reskar has aligned itself with the Empire following the failed signing of the trade agreement." It was beginning to get too dark for Spock to see clearly, but Jim was close enough that he could see the man's eyes widen and then narrow and his jaw clench.

"Of course Teanar allied with the Klingons. Why not?" He clenched his fists and turned away, and Spock could feel his entire body tense. This was not what Spock had intended to happen when he had fought his way out of his healing trance. He was supposed to helping his captain, not adding to his stress.

"However, I do not believe that they will expend too many additional resources searching for us," he added quickly. "Now that they have a deal with the Klingons, we would not serve them any purpose, as they know that the Federation does not negotiate for prisoners, especially if doing so would trigger a war between the Klingons and the Federation." Spock felt Jim relax slightly as he spoke, although not much. There was still something else that was bothering the man, something unrelated to the Klingons.

Spock allowed the silence to linger, giving the man time to bring up the subject of whatever it was that was disturbing him on his own. After a minute had passed, however, he took matters into his own hands.

"Jim," he said before pausing, not sure of how to continue. How did he inform his friend that they had been broadcasting their emotions so loudly that they had broken through the walls of his healing trance and drawn him out of it? He did not want to make the man feel guilty.

"What is it?" Jim asked, turning back toward Spock and inadvertently placing their faces less than a quarter of a meter apart.

"While I was in my healing trance, I was able to detect some of your emotions. I could not discern the particulars, nor did I try to," he hastened to add as Jim's brows drew together, "but I could tell that there was something wrong. Are you okay, Jim?"

The man blinked at him for several moments, as if attempting to process a difficult question. Finally, his words seemed to register and he nodded jerkily. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said. Spock raised an eyebrow at him, and the man met his gaze defiantly for a few more seconds before sighing. As he did so, the tension melted from his body, and he slumped slightly. "I mean, I'm fine physically; you're the one with the broken leg. It's just...I hate this feeling of not being able to do anything."

He turned away from Spock again, gazing at nothing. "I need a goal, Spock, something to work for. I can't just sit around and do nothing until the Enterprise comes back. What if it never comes back? What if they do but they can't find us on this forsaken planet? Am I just going to lay here, gather Rekka nuts, and hide for the rest of my life? I'd go mad. I would. I need something to work for. Otherwise, what's the point?"

As he spoke into the darkness, Spock could feel the weight settling onto the man's shoulders, as if each word made what he felt more real until he could barely breathe from the strain it all. And Spock understood.

"Do not give up your purpose yet, Jim," he said quietly, grasping the man's arm in the darkness for a brief moment, just long enough to encourage him to turn his head and catch his eyes once more. "I took a communication device from the Klingon; it is in the bag I carried. I believe I can find a way to make it function to transmit a signal to at least the orbital level. If the Enterprise returns, we will be able to contact the crew."

Instantly, Spock felt Jim's mood lighten. It was a physical shift. He sat a little straighter, his muscles regained their strength, and he held his head higher. Spock knew that if he could see the man's face more clearly, there would be wonder and pride written in his gaze.

"But it will wait. For now, you must sleep, Jim."

Jim let out a laugh, the sound clear and bright in the darkness. "Of course, Spock. But only if you do too. I know you were in your trance, but that isn't the same thing as sleeping."

Spock didn't hesitate to agree. "Very well."

A few minutes later, they were lying on the rocky ground, close to one another, but not touching. Regardless of the lack of contact, Spock could feel contentment and hope coming off of Jim in waves. Spock's last thought before he fell asleep was a desperate prayer that he would be able to fulfill his not-promise so that Jim's hope would come to fruition instead of withering away.

A/N Ta-da! Another chapter! I hope you enjoyed it! I wrote this in one sitting, and it ended up being very different from what I had planned, but I think I like it this way better. As always, I love hearing from you, so leave me some reviews/comments.

On a side note, this story is rated T and that rating isn't changing unless someone feels like the torture chapters warrant a higher rating, so don't expect any fade-to-blacks or anything else. That's not what I'm wanting for this story. I only mention it because someone commented about it, so yeah.


	22. The Inbetween

A/N: Here's another chapter! Still a little melancholy, but I promise it won't last forever!

The next few days passed without incident which Spock was incredibly grateful for. He was largely confined to their tent for the duration of the time, as he had been spending an average of eighteen hours a day in his healing trance. The rest of his time he devoted to finishing his coat as well as creating one for Jim. He had only finished that project forty-seven minutes ago, and the man was not aware that he had been working on it. It was something of a surprise. Surprises were, in general, illogical, as it was better to know of a thing beforehand in order to properly prepare oneself, but he had noticed that Jim was fond of surprises as long as they were not adverse in any way, and so he had kept his work secret in order to see the man smile when he finally presented it to him.

Jim had not smiled in far too long. Every now and then, there would be a small grin, a chuckle even, but the expressions were hollow and the sounds were forced. When Jim truly smiled, it was as powerful as a ray of sun on Vulcan; these empty things could not touch that radiant power.

Anytime Jim thought Spock was not looking, his face would fall, and Spock could read incredible weariness and despair in it. He wished that he could do something to take some of that pain away, but he was all too aware of how little he could do to ease the man's worries. Unbidden, his mind pulled a memory from two days before to the surface.

_"It's not working, Spock," Jim stated, as Spock held the unresponsive communicator in his hands. "Why isn't it working?"_

_Spock turned the device over, inspecting it with a critical eye. It appeared to be fully functional, although he was not familiar enough with the Klingon design to be certain of his assessment. However, he was reasonably confident that the communicator was, in fact, functioning, merely not in the way that they desired it to._

_"It is functioning, Captain." Spock reverted to the title almost subconsciously in response to the man's authoritative tone. The man didn't seem to notice. "This communicator does not have the range required to function as we wish it to. However, the adjustments required are simple."_

_"Spock," the man said, gesturing vaguely, "we don't have the supplies to adjust it. Unless you can do whatever it is using vines and Rekka nuts, it's useless." His voice was bitter and he avoided Spock's gaze. _

_Spock nodded, acknowledging the truth of his captain's statement. "I cannot. However, if the maps of Reskar that we received from Ambassador Silas are of any worth, there is a small town just beyond these mountains that would likely have what we require."_

_Jim raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Do you really trust those maps? I mean, just about everything else we learned from Ambassador Silas is either useless or wrong. It would be risky."_

_"Indeed. However, there is little else that we can do. You wished for a goal, Captain." He let the words hang in the air, hoping that he had not overstepped his bounds. They were in a peculiar position now, and neither of them truly understood where their authority lay. James T. Kirk would always be his captain, of course, but the boundary between friend and captain had become blurred._

_Thankfully, his words had their intended effect, and Jim began to nod slowly. "I did," he admitted. "But you aren't going anywhere, much less climbing a mountain, with your leg broken like that."_

_"If I continue to utilize the healing trance, my leg will be healed within three or four days. However, doing so will weaken my mental shields considerably and it is likely that I will have to stop frequently to rest during our journey."_

_Jim looked skeptical, but he nodded. "Okay. But Spock," he paused, looking into Spock's eyes for a long moment. "please don't push yourself because you think it's what I want. Just because I need a goal doesn't mean I need you to kill yourself over it."_

_Spock raised an eyebrow in reply. "To do so would be quite illogical, Jim," he said simply. _

_The corner of Jim's lips turned up a few centimeters. "Of course."_

Spock shook his head, placing the memory to the back of his mind once again.

His leg was healing quickly, just as he had said that it would; he would likely be able to walk on it within the next day. Despite that, however, his confidence in his own plan had wanned over the past few days. He could not be certain that there was a town on the other side of the mountains. That meant that he was risking both his and Jim's lives for a plan that could easily prove fruitless. What would they do then?

Jim would be devastated. The man tried to conceal his emotions to a degree, but Spock could read him far too easily. This plan was all that was keeping the man going right now. Whenever Jim was still for long enough, most often at night when he would lay down to sleep, Spock could see a shadow overcome him. There was something lurking in his mind that troubled him, something that threatened to drag him into despair or some similar emotion, and his constant business was all that kept it at bay. If this plan failed, there would be nothing left for them to do or hope for.

As it was, their chances of escaping Reskar were very slim. Both he and Jim knew that. For the Enterprise to return to the planet at all would be incredibly risky, especially if there were Klingon vessels nearby as Spock suspected. For the Enterprise crew to then scan the planet in search of them would be dangerously time-consuming, and it would be unlikely to produce viable results. The only way the ship would be able to detect them with any surety would be if they were transmitting a signal from the planet's surface constantly. There were simply too many variables for the chance of success to be high enough for hope. And yet, that was exactly what Jim was doing, and, it was exactly what he himself was doing.

What would be the result of their hope, he wondered.

The sound of the entrance flap of the tent rustling to the side drew Spock from his thoughts, and he looked up as Jim entered, stooped over and bearing two bags full of Rekka nuts.

"Spock, you're awake! I thought you would have entered your trance by now," he exclaimed, a small grin on his face. He set the bags down and opened one, tossing several nuts in Spock's direction. "What's that?" Jim asked, pointing with a Rekka nut to the garment laying in Spock's lap. "I thought you already finished your coat."

"I did. This is for you. Since you continue to insist on my using your robe, I have created a substitute," Spock explained, and for some reason, he felt the tips of his ears begin to heat. "It is not as effective, of course, but I believe you will be more comfortable now."

As Spock had hoped, Jim's grin widened into a true smile, shining brilliantly even in the dim light of their tent. "You didn't have to do that, Spock. I was just a little cold is all. How long did this take you?"

"Approximately five hours and thirteen minutes. I had little else to do."

Jim actually laughed at that, and the sound caused Spock's own lips to twitch upward. "That's fair. Thank you." Spock only inclined his head in reply, watching as the man slid the garment on over his bare shoulders, tying it tightly around his waist before looking down and turning his arms to examine the sleeves. "It fits pretty well considering the materials and the fact that you didn't take my measurements," he remarked, still gazing down at the coat he now wore.

"I used the data from your most recent physical as a reference and then adjusted to account for the recent change and diet and additional stress, as both are factors into human metabolism. I am gratified to know that my calculations were correct." It was still far from perfect, and he regretted the fact that the materials were so uncomfortable, but it was satisfactory.

Jim chuckled again. "Of course they were, Spock. I don't think they've ever been wrong." Spock decided to refrain from listing out all of the numerous occasions when his calculations had proven to be incorrect and simply nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. "I'm surprised you remembered the details from my physical, though. That was almost two months ago."

"I reviewed the file before we left for Reskar. The physical also contained a list of foods that you are allergic to, which I believed could 'come in handy' as you often say," Spock replied. Another person might view his extensive research as unnerving or an invasion of privacy, but Jim being who he was only grinned.

"Well, I'm glad you did." His eyes grew distant, and Spock knew he was remembering something from the time before their capture here. "Bones brought so many hypos with him I thought they wouldn't all fit. I'm allergic to about half of the medicines in his arsenal, and there are a few different combinations of medicines that my body doesn't agree with as well. He says that my delicate immune system is going to be the death of us both one day, but I like to think that I'm simply challenging his medical expertise."

Spock nodded, recalling several times that the country doctor had complained of exactly that while searching for medicine that wouldn't harm Jim as he attempted to combat whatever illness the man had developed. Such situations almost always followed away missions that had gone wrong, although there had been an incident that had occurred on shore leave when the man had consumed a glass of Ulrran vodka, a substance he was quite allergic to.

"What are you thinking about, Spock? I can see that look in your eye."

Spock blinked, bringing the world back into focus as he replied. "I was recalling your visit to Doctor McCoy after your shore leave on Iskis-7. He was quite irate."

Jim grinned again, and another little jolt of happiness flooded Spock. "Ah, the Ulrran vodka incident. Bones was not happy about that one. He kept me in sickbay for an entire day after giving me a lecture on my reckless behavior. That was only two months into our mission; I'm surprised you remember it."

Spock raised an eyebrow. Clearly, the man did not remember the particulars of that event. "It would be difficult to forget, Jim. Transporting you from the bar to sickbay was challenging, to say the least." The man had been only half-conscious at the time, which meant that Spock had virtually carried him to sickbay. Jim had been muttering incoherently the entire time, but there had been a decidedly satisfied grin on his face. Spock had learned later that the man had drunk the vodka after a dare from Chekov.

"Oh...I forgot about that," Jim said, glancing down. The light within their tent was beginning to fade, but Spock could still detect the blush spreading across the man's cheeks.

"It was after that incident that I realized it would be beneficial for me to learn and stay updated on the list of your allergies."

The blush deepened. "Stars, Spock, you shouldn't feel like you have to babysit me. I know I was being stupid that night, but I'd like to think I've gotten better since then."

Spock frowned slightly. There was self-reproach in the other man's voice that did not belong there. Yes, his actions had been foolish, but they had also been an outlier. It was not as if the man sought out substances that were harmful to him on purpose.

"It is my duty to keep you safe, Jim. It is not a sign of my lack of trust but simply my desire to do my duty to the best of my ability," he explained, leaning toward the man to draw his attention. Jim looked back up, uncertainty in his eyes.

"You shouldn't have to pay such close attention to me," he said quietly, shame still dripping from his words. "I should be smart enough, aware enough, to avoid my own allergies! Stars, you mush hate having to put up with someone as incompetent as me as your captain."

Spock blinked in surprise. Did Jim truly believe... "You are far more skilled that you allow yourself to recognize, Jim. I do not know who or what instilled in you this idea of incompetence, but it is incorrect. You are Starfleet's best captain, and there is no one I would rather serve under. The situation we are in now has done nothing to change that." That was the real issue. Their current predicament had filled Jim with doubts, and he was projecting those doubts onto the past as well as the present.

Jim nodded slowly and looked back up at Spock. "Thank you. Being stuck on this planet isn't doing me much good. It doesn't help that—well, nevermind. I think I'm going to go to sleep."

For a moment, Spock wanted to protest. There was obviously something that still bothered Jim, the same something that he glimpsed every time the man was able to slow down long enough for his mind to catch up. But then the man laid down and turned away from him, and Spock decided to let the matter go. It was obvious that whatever it was, it wasn't something that Jim wanted to discuss at the present, and the considerable level of stress that weighed on the man convinced Spock not to press him further. Instead, he simply laid down as well, allowing the healing trance to absorb his consciousness once more.

. . .

Jim cursed inwardly. Stars, he was an idiot! What was wrong with him? One moment, he was happy and everything was fine, and the next, it was as if the weight of the entire galaxy was bearing down on him, crushing him until he could barely gasp for air. He needed to get off of this planet before his mind snapped. Although the planet might not be the only problem.

A quiet sound came from a spot less than a meter behind him, and Jim knew that Spock was now laying down as well. The Vulcan would likely enter his healing trance within the next ten minutes, which meant that Jim needed to get his emotions under control.

Spock's mental shields were a small price to pay for healing his broken leg, Jim knew, but it still unnerved him that the Vulcan was able to feel an 'aura' of his emotions while he was in his trance. From what Spock had told him, he wasn't able to discern the specifics of the emotions, but Jim knew that he could tell when something was bothering him, and he really didn't want to deal with the questions that were sure to follow if he projected those emotions right now.

It was just—it was frustrating. Usually, Jim was incredibly confident in situations like this one. He knew he was attractive and that most people found his position as a starship captain alluring. But Spock was not most people. He was so much smarter than Jim, so much more composed, so much more aware, so much—more. And after Jim's pitiful display tonight, he was even more certain that the Vulcan would never reciprocate this jumbled mess of emotions that Jim felt.

It was beginning to be annoying. Before Jim had recognized what the emotions he felt were, they had simply existed in the background, a gentle current that bled into his interactions but not enough to really make a difference. Now, however, every time he looked at Spock they rushed to the surface, and they hurt.

It was a war between hope and despair. Try as he might, Jim couldn't smother the small piece of his soul that hoped that Spock would one day see him in the same light, and every time his doubts rose up, that piece of him ached fiercely. Apparently, it was not a fan of the truth. But it wasn't any less painful to come to terms with reality. Pining after someone who would never want him for the rest of his life was not exactly a pleasant thought, after all.

He had tried to let them both go. Over the past few days, he had purposely kept himself as busy as possible in the hopes that these warring emotions would call an armistice and settle down, but they took up arms again any time his mind strayed to Spock, something it did far too often to be healthy.

And he was doing it again. With an inward curse, Jim purposefully turned his thoughts to the journey that was ahead of them. Spock had estimated that it would take them two or three days to cross the mountains, as they would have to move slowly and stop frequently because of Spock's leg. With that in mind, Jim had been gathering food and water for the trip, and now he added medical supplies to the list. Their stock was running low, but Spock had identified two different plants that he believed had medicinal value, and Jim would collect some more of those tomorrow.

As his brain went off on that tangent, making lists of everything he needed to do and pointedly ignoring the emotions that still swirled around in his gut, Jim's body began to relax. This was something that he knew how to do. This was part of his training, part of his job as a member of Starfleet and a captain. Survival 101. It was simple, straightforward. Nothing like the mad tangle that currently resided in the pit of his stomach.

Slowly, Jim's mind began to wind down, allowing him to begin to drift into the realm of sleep. As he did so, his body subconsciously sought out additional warmth, and by the time he was asleep, he had curled up next to Spock, his body seeming to hover in that uncertain space a few centimeters from the Vulcan's.

A/N So, what's the overall vibe Jim and Spock are giving you? They feel pretty introspective to me right now, but then again, our boys are thinkers; it's part of why they're so good at what they do. In other news, I have decided to do my own kind of NaNoWriMo this month by setting the goal of finishing this fic by the end of November. Obviously, that's not a whole novel, but it's what I'm working on right now, so I figured, why not? It would be nice to have it done by the holidays so I can clear my mind in time for the new year... As always, I love hearing from you! I may be a little slow replying to comments as I dedicate more time to writing (that's a horrible excuse, I know, just roll with it) but I do read every single comment I get and I do respond eventually! Thanks again!


	23. Up

A/N Look! Another chapter!

Four days after Spock broke his leg, they were ready to begin the journey up the mountain. They would not have to climb all the way to the summit, of course, a fact for which they were both quite grateful. Instead, they would need to ascend about halfway up the slopes in order to reach the pass that Spock recalled seeing on the maps they had been furnished with before arriving on the planet.

"You're sure you're up for this?" Jim's worried voice caused Spock to withdraw from his thoughts and turn around. The man was standing a few meters behind him, laden with several bags containing their food and water—he had managed to make a watertight container the day before by using a combination of two different plant fronds, one of which was hydrophobic—as well as a few other tools they suspected would be needed for their journey. His brows were drawn with worry and his gaze dropped down to Spock's leg.

Spock followed his eyes to the splint that ensured he would not further damage the still healing bone. It was healed enough for him to walk on if he was careful, but he had decided that it would be logical to take additional precautions considering the environment they would soon find themselves in.

"I am in adequate condition for this journey," Spock replied honestly. "I will have to rest approximately every three hours of travel, but as you have demonstrated an unwillingness to make the climb without me, I believe that these are the best conditions that we will receive for some time."

Jim let out a sigh. "Okay. Just—just let me know if you start to have trouble or we need to stop sooner. I know you've been in and out of a healing trance, but it's still only been four days since you broke your leg."

"I will alert you if there is any cause for concern," Spock promised, allowing his facial features to soften for an instant. Jim nodded in response, and Spock's face settled back into its normal expressionless state. "Are you ready to depart, Jim?"

The rising sun peeked over the twisted trees of the grove as he finished speaking, lighting the man's face in soft rays. For a moment, Jim appeared almost ethereal, like some foreign creature that simply could not exist. Then, Jim rose a hand to his face to shield his eyes, and he was himself again. Spock chided his mind for coming up with such an illogical fantasy, but before he could properly banish the thought, Jim spoke.

"As ready as I'll ever be." He smiled and then turned his gaze to the mountains. "Do you want to lead the way, Spock, or guide from the back?"

"I believe my position in the front would be the most beneficial," he replied. "It will allow me to better identify the path of least resistance to our goal, and should anything happen to me, you would be witness to it, allowing you to provide aid sooner than if I had been journeying behind you."

"Sound logic, Mr. Spock." Jim smiled slightly in the dawn-light and gestured with one arm toward the mountains. Spock nodded in reply and took up his position and they began their journey.

. . .

Jim cursed quietly under his breath as he nearly stumbled over a loose rock, again. That marked the fifth time in an hour that this mountain had attempted to send him tumbling. Spock, being the Vulcan that he was, heard Jim's quiet noise of frustration and turned around, one eyebrow arched elegantly. Jim waved him off and the Vulcan turned back around.

Somehow, Spock hadn't so much as stumbled this entire trip. Despite that splint and his injury, he was picking his way across the rocks and around the scattered vegetation like some kind of pointy-eared mountain goat. Not that that was a phrase Jim would ever dare say to Spock's face, of course. Still, it was impressive, and Jim found himself once more in awe of both his impressive healing and his determination.

From the little Jim knew about Vulcan healing trances—the very, very little—they relied as much on the strength of the mind as they did on the body. Somehow, Vulcans were able to tap into their subconscious and convince their bodies to speed up the process, as if they were manually taking control of their immune systems. It was nothing short of incredible, but it also sounded completely exhausting.

Spock hadn't slept properly in four days. Granted, he had been in his trance for the greater part of each day for that time, but it obviously wasn't the same as getting a good night's sleep. And here he was, climbing a mountain like it was no trouble at all, showing no sign of weariness or pain. It was incredible. Spock was incredible. Still, Jim redoubled his efforts to keep an eye on the Vulcan as they climbed. He knew how stubborn Spock could be; it was quite possible that he would push himself beyond what was healthy if he believed that they would benefit from his pain.

. . .

Spock came to a stop and surveyed the paths available to them. One would require vertical climbing, something that would place considerable strain on his healing leg, but would reduce their travel time by at least an hour. The other was much safer, but would take longer. As he contemplated the two options, Jim caught up to him. The man's breathing was slightly labored but nothing to be concerned about, nevertheless, Spock filed the information away as it would help him better determine when they should stop to rest.

"Why the hold-up?" Jim asked after taking a moment to breathe.

"We have two alternate routes we could take. One is more difficult but shorter, and the other is safer but much longer," Spock explained. "I believe that we should take the first, as it will reduce our travel time by an hour, allowing us to seek shelter sooner."

Jim frowned, his lips and brows tugging downward in tandem. "How much worse is that path? What do we need to do?"

"There are approximately ten meters of vertical climbing required," Spock answered. "I know that you are quite adept at mountain-climbing without a harness or other safety gear, so this should prove relatively simple despite your injuries since they are mostly healed. I will have to take care to avoid placing excessive amounts of pressure on my healing leg, however."

"Hmm." Jim placed one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his chin thoughtfully. It was a position that Spock had seen the man take many times both on the bridge of the Enterprise and while sitting opposite him at the chessboard. Eventually, he nodded. "Okay. We'll try it. But if anything starts to go wrong, we'll descend immediately and take the other route. Agreed?" Spock gave a sharp nod. "Alright, lead the way."

Spock led them up another twenty meters or so, although 'up' was not quite an adequate term. They ascended, yes, but they did so through various left and right turns combined with an increasing slope. Eventually, they reached the rocky cliff that Spock had spotted earlier. Its surface was rough, which meant there were plenty of handholds for their climb. He surveyed it for a few moments, mentally mapping out which routes would be the quickest, which would be the safest, and so on. Eventually, he nodded to himself and stepped forward. Grasping onto a jutting lip of rock, he began to climb.

. . .

Jim grunted as he heaved himself upward, throwing his right arm out to grasp the next handhold and repeat the process. A few meters above him, Spock was doing the same thing, although he relied almost entirely on three of his four limbs. His splinted leg was placed carefully only after the majority of his body weight was being supported elsewhere. It was an incredible thing to watch, and for a moment, Jim forgot about his own climbing until his arms began to burn from the strain he was placing on them, half-hanging as he was.

Laughing to himself, he continued to make his way up the cliffside, little by little. As he did so, he relished in the feeling. Spock had been right when he said that Jim knew how to climb. Before he had joined Starfleet, he had done stuff like this all the time. His mother had hated it, but she had always encouraged him to do the things he loved, so she hadn't stopped him whenever he had traveled to go mountain climbing. He hadn't been able to do it for a little over a year now, not since that stop on, what was it...Yeko? That sounded right. There had been this gorgeous mountain range there and they had had an opportunity to take some shore leave, so he had gone climbing. He had been in better shape then, though.

Jim could feel the way that being on Reskar was changing his body. He was thinner now, something Spock had noted when making him his new coat, and his muscle mass had decreased as his body began to consume it for fuel. He was also sore just about everywhere, a situation that would not be helped at all by this climb. He was also somewhat...empty. Normally, his body would hum, a quiet buzz of energy always resting beneath the surface. Sure, there were days when the hum was barely noticeable, but it had always been there for him to draw on when he needed that extra bit of energy. Now, he was running on less than a whisper. But he was running, and that was something he was endlessly grateful for.

After another fifteen minutes of climbing, Jim crested the top and collapsed on his back, staring up at the Reskarian sky. He was struck once again by just how beautiful this planet was; looking at it, one would never guess at the ugly secrets that it hid. After a few more moments of gazing up, Jim pushed himself into a sitting position and looked over at Spock, who was still standing about a meter away.

"Well, how'd we do on efficiency, Spock?" Jim asked, his voice holding a grin, even if the expression didn't quite make it onto his face.

Spock quirked an eyebrow. "Our climb took approximately three minutes less than I had anticipated," he replied, and this time, Jim's grin reached his lips.

"Not too bad, considering the number of gym days we've missed. Speaking of, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to climb," Jim remarked, leaning back onto his forearms. "If the situation were better, I might suggest that we do it again." He glanced over at Spock and saw that he was carefully settling himself down on the rocks to mimick Jim's position, although he remained sitting upright, ever the proper Vulcan.

"I have never seen you climb before, Jim, although I know you consider it an enjoyable pastime. If I recall correctly, Doctor McCoy is not fond of the habit, however. Is that why you have not indulged in it with any frequency during the course of our mission?"

Spock's mention of Bones brought an image of the doctor, scowl and all, to the forefront of Jim's mind, and he chuckled and shook his head. "No, although Bones would love to take credit for it. The truth is, I just don't have as much time now. Usually, when the crew has shore-leave, it's on some starbase somewhere without any good mountains, and when we're actually planetside, I seem to find myself roped into some gathering or another."

From the corner of his eye, Jim saw Spock nod. "That is understandable. As a starship captain, you have many duties that are not directly stated but often strongly implied." The Vulcan paused for a moment, and Jim glanced over to see a strange look on Spock's face as if he were internally debating something. A moment later, however, the expression had vanished, and he said, "If you ever find yourself in such a situation where your shore-leave is compromised by such duties, I would be glad to take your place at any non-essential functions."

A grin crossed Jim's face almost before the Vulcan finished speaking. "Really?" He quickly reigned in his happiness however and his voice took on a more serious tone. "I don't want to interrupt your break though, Spock. I know you don't usually beam down during leave, but you do relax in your own way, and I don't want to take that away from you."

"You would not be taking anything, Jim. I often find myself with little to do besides meditate and play my lyre. Attending the occasional social or political function would hardly cut into my 'relaxation'."

Jim smiled again and leaned his head against the rocks, looking up at the brilliantly blue sky. "Thank you, Spock. I might just take you up on that offer." 'If we ever get out of here.' The sentence was uttered internally, and Jim quickly pushed it aside, refusing to allow his brain to dwell on such darkness right now.

After a moment, Jim sat up and slung one of the bags of Rekka nuts off of his shoulder. "Here, have something to eat. Neither of us have been doing a very good job of keeping up with our nutrition." For his part, Spock didn't deny the statement as Jim had suspected he might. Instead, he simply took the bag with an inclination of his head that Jim had come to read as a sign of gratitude.

For about half an hour they sat there at the top of that cliff and ate Rekka nuts and talked of various things, mostly of Jim's various mountain-climbing experiences. Then, once they had eaten as many of the nuts as they could possibly stomach, they stood and set off once more up the mountain.

For several hours, their path was fairly easy. The incline had begun to get considerably steeper, but it was still level enough that Jim had little time picking his way across the rocks without too much worry for where his foot was going to land each time he set it down. As they climbed, the rocks became less gravelly and more solid, almost boulders. They appeared sturdy enough, but Jim noticed that Spock tested each one carefully before stepping onto it, and he did the same. It would be a horrible twist of fate if they survived this long only to be killed by poor foot placement and sliding rocks.

Eventually, Spock called for a stop again, and Jim welcomed it, leading the two of them over to a scraggly tree that grew from between two large boulders. He propped himself up against the trunk, and after a moment, Spock did the same, his shoulders brushing Jim's as he sat.

"It's incredible that you're able to climb like this, Spock," Jim said, his gaze drawn to the splint on Spock's leg. "Have you ever mountain climbed before? You're practically a natural."

"The landscape of Vulcan around the place where I was raised is mountainous, but I have never climbed them. The peaks are considered to be sacred according to the ancient traditions, and although we on Vulcan do not follow the majority of those practices any longer, some of the ideas linger. I have, however, ascended several of the plateaus that are contained within my family's ancestral lands. It is not the same as mountain-climbing, however, as the sandstone and other sediments that make up the plateaus is quite different in composition to the substances that form mountains such as these," Spock explained, and Jim nodded.

There was silence for a few more moments before Jim switched topics to something that had been lingering in the back of his mind for a while now. "You said your mother taught you to sew? Is it a skill most Vulcans know, or...?" Jim didn't really know what he was trying to ask, but he found that he was very curious about Spock's childhood. How had he lived in order to become the man he was today? He knew some of the details, of course, but even after almost two years serving with Spock, there was still plenty he didn't know about the Vulcan.

Spock was slow in answering, and Jim realized too late that this might be a subject that the man found uncomfortable. His childhood on Vulcan hadn't been entirely pleasant, Jim knew, but before he could open his mouth to apologize for broaching the unwanted subject, Spock began to speak.

"There are many Vulcans who know the basics of sewing, and there are many more who could learn the skill in very little time. However, few learned it in their youth as I did," he began. "As I said a few days ago, my mother taught it to me as a supplement to meditation; it was a task that required little mental dedication on my part while occupying my hands. It was...a helpful practice when I was young, as I did not immediately take to the practice of meditation." Spock's voice took on a distant quality, and Jim knew he was remembering snippets of his childhood. "I believe my mother blamed herself in part for my inability to focus as the other children could, and so she did her best to counteract that flaw. However, she never did so in a way that made me feel any less valued."

"Amanda is truly an amazing woman," Jim said quietly, thinking on the last time he had seen the woman. She had been a powerful presence then, a vital bridge that spanned the gap between her husband and her son, two stubborn people that she obviously treasured dearly. One day, he would have to ask her how she did it; how she managed to live among Vulcans for so long without going insane, although he had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew the question.

"Indeed she is."

They lapsed into silence after that for another quarter of an hour. Eventually, they stood and once more continued their journey, climbing until night began to fall. By the time the Reskarian sun had set, he and Spock were settled into a small alcove, not really large enough to be called a cave, between two particularly hulking boulders. They were protected from the wind for the most part, and the cramped quarters meant that they were forced close enough together that their shared body heat largely eliminated the problem of the cold. Coupled with the extra coats, they were practically warm. Or maybe Jim's mind was simply too distracted to feel the cold. Either way, he was content.

As Jim drifted off to sleep with Spock curled on his side a mere dozen centimeters to his left, there was a small grin on his face and gratitude in his heart. They had a goal, and for once, things were actually looking up.

A/N I seem to end with them falling asleep a lot, but it's just such a natural place to stop...Oh well. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!


	24. Radiant

Spock woke with pain shooting down his spine. Slowly, he forced his mind to compartmentalize the feeling and lock it away until he could determine its cause. Then, he opened his eyes and the reason for his pain became apparent. His body was bent nearly double, cramped into a small crevice between two rather rough rocks. Still, the pain was not unbearable, and he was warm.

He shifted slightly to alleviate the pressure being placed on his still-healing leg and felt the weight on his shoulder move. He glanced down and saw that Jim was nearly cuddled into his side, his head resting on his shoulder. For a moment, a small grin crossed his face, and then he placed a hand on the man's wrist, shaking him gently.

"Jim, we must begin moving," he said quietly, almost reluctantly. As illogical as it was, part of him wanted to let the man sleep; he looked so serene in sleep with none of the pain and despair clouding his features. Still, it was important that they covered as much ground as they could as quickly as they could so that there was a smaller chance of the Enterprise arriving before they were able to begin transmitting a subspace signal. He shook the man again, and Jim let out a tired groan.

"I'm awake, I'm awake. Jus' give me a minute," he grumbled, and another smile pulled at Spock's lips. He shifted again, and the man sat up on his own, rubbing his eyes and letting out a long yawn. Then, he turned to Spock, and suddenly, Spock understood the human expression of one's heart 'skipping a beat'.

Jim was radiant. He had come to associate the man with the light that poured from burning stars and warming suns sometime over the past two years, he didn't know when. Now, however, the metaphor was even more applicable. Sleep still tugged at the man's features, making them softer than usual. His eyebrows were drawn together against the light of the sun, but there was no tension in them. Instead, he grinned slightly, lazily dragging one hand up across his chin and jaw and into his tousled hair. He ruffled it, the movement doing little to assuage the numerous tangles, and then dropped his hand and let out another yawn. Fascinating.

The realization of what he was doing crashed down on Spock, and he glanced away, the tips of his ears burning. He would need to meditate on his actions later, but for now, he simply filed them away and did his best to bring his mind back to the present situation. That focus was shattered instantly when Jim let out a low chuckle as he rubbed his chin again.

"It seems I'm beginning to develop a bit of a beard," he remarked, scratching at his face again. Spock's eyes were drawn by the movement, and he noticed that a beard was indeed beginning to grow. Self-conscious now, Spock found his own hand reaching up to his face and finding a considerable amount of stubble there.

"Somehow, I didn't realize that much time had passed," Jim said. "I mean, logically, I knew that it had, but still...I'm surprised I didn't notice it earlier." The words echoed what Spock was feeling, so he simply nodded. Jim grinned again, playfully, and quipped, "Careful, Spock. By the time the Enterprise gets here, they might think they're in the Mirror universe again."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I find that it would be difficult to blame them for the error, illogical though the mistake would be. The Enterprise seems to have a habit of finding itself in situations that, logically, should not exist."

Another grin. "That she does." The grin faded, and Spock saw the man's happiness morph to longing. After a moment, the man sighed and began to stand. "We should probably get moving," he said, and his voice was absent of much of the joy it had held just a moment prior. Spock nodded once and stood, following the man out of the small crevice and into the full light of the early morning.

. . .

They traveled for four hours before Spock requested that they stop. He had not entered his healing trance the night before in order to remain more alert in case something should happen, and he was paying the price for that decision. His leg was mostly healed, but the more he walked on it, the more he reversed that, and now he could no longer maintain the pace he had set earlier.

Stepping carefully, Spock made his way to a more flat expanse of rock and gently lowered himself. For a few moments, he simply sat there, eyes closed, and worked to regulate the pain that his limb was causing him. His concentration was disrupted, however, when Jim sat down next to him less than a meter away.

"Spock?" The man's voice was concerned, and once more, a part of Spock was struck by the amount of compassion that Jim was capable to be able to consider his injury even when it hindered them from reaching their destination.

"I am fine, Jim," Spock reassured, opening his eyes and meeting Jim's. "My injured leg is paining me, but it is not serious, and the pain will soon be over" That wasn't a lie, exactly. Soon he would no longer feel the pain, it was true, but it wouldn't be because it had disappeared. He would suppress it, at least until they were able to stop for the night when he would be able to enter his trance once more.

Jim, for his part, didn't seem to fully believe him, but he let the subject drop, instead sliding one of the bags off of his shoulders and offering Spock several nuts. They ate without speaking, the silence only broken by the sound of the Rekka shells cracking under their fingers as they opened them to reach the meat inside.

"I saw a bird the other day," Jim said suddenly, stilling his movements. "It was the morning before you woke up, I think. It's the only one I've seen this whole time."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating. Even as we have exited the forest we have not seen obvious signs of local fauna, but the presence of a bird of some type indicates that it does, in fact, exist. Perhaps there was some kind of disaster that drove the usual inhabitants away."

If the planet was not so dangerous, Spock would have been gratified to study it in closer detail. The plants here were sturdier than most, indicating some kind of frequent or semi-frequent event that they needed such a structure to survive, but they had seen no other evidence of anything of that caliber. The lack of animals as well was intriguing, something that was well worth dedicating time to study—if their circumstances had been different.

"I wonder if the Reskarians accidentally did something to the wildlife," Jim mused. "Earth came close to destroying animal life a few times during our history, although we always managed to avoid it, thankfully. There are a number of species that have become extinct, of course, but nothing on a truly global scale."

Spock nodded, recalling several different lectures he had attended, and a few he had given, on the subject of wildlife extinction on Federation planets. "If something that large did occur on Reskar, it could explain that Reskarian's desperation to secure an alliance with a powerful force. An ecological disaster such as the one you are suggesting would completely cripple their ecological structure which would damage everything from the economy to quality of life on Reskar." He paused a moment before adding, "But it is highly unlikely that such an event occurred without damaging the cities of Reskar, and they appear to be intact."

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, it was a wild theory. Still, I do wonder what happened." He let out a sudden sigh and turned to Spock, eyes aflame with some passionate feeling. "I wish they had just reached out! Whatever Reskar needs, the Federation would probably be happy to provide if they simply asked. But instead, they turned to torture, coercion, and deals with the Klingons! Why?"

Spock understood the man's frustration. They had seen similar situations more times than they would have preferred over the course of their mission. Too often, the leaders of suffering planets could not put aside their own pride or flawed beliefs to see the truth of their situation and request the aid that they and their people needed.

"It is illogical," he said after a moment, "but you must remember, Jim, that Reskar and the planets like it are outliers. Most planets that are advanced enough for contact with the Federation have accepted aid willingly, even those who have declined membership."

Jim's features softened, the fire in his eyes dimming somewhat as he nodded. "You're right, of course. I just wish we could somehow show people that there is a better option out there." He sighed and leaned back against the rocks.

Once again, Spock was overcome by just how compassionate and caring the man beside him was. It would be easy for him to resent the entire planet of Reskar and justify that resentment with the actions of Teanar and the people that serve him. But he did not. Instead, he wished that he were able to do more to help the innocents of the planet. It was admirable beyond words, and Spock found himself grateful once more to have such a man as his captain and friend.

They drifted into silence again, and Spock knew that Jim was still thinking of all the things he wished he was able to do. They were not entirely wholesome thoughts, but they were better than whatever darkness had been plaguing the man, so he did not interrupt. Twenty-two minutes later, he managed to bring his pain completely under control and was ready to begin their journey once again. He stood carefully, and Jim did the same, shooting him a small smile as he did so. There was something in the expression that Spock could not identify, but then it passed, and they were moving once again.

. . .

Jim leapt over a small crack in the mountain below him, careful not to step in it and sprain his ankle or anything. That was the last thing they needed right now. Other than the occasional loose rocks and cracks though, the climb was pretty easy. The mountain wasn't a steep one at this elevation except where pieces of it had sheared away to create cliff faces like the one they had climbed yesterday. He was grateful for the relatively gentle slope, if only because of Spock's leg.

The Vulcan was hiding how much it pained him to walk on the limb, Jim was almost certain of it. Part of him wanted to demand that they stop again and not get up until Spock was healed completely, but he knew that it just wasn't logical. Now that they were on the mountain, it was smarter to keep a good pace and make it down the other side as quickly as possible. Still, Jim couldn't completely suppress the guilt he felt.

They walked on like that for another two or three hours—it was easy to lose track of time up here—when Spock stopped, and Jim stepped up beside him and looked out, following the Vulcan's gaze. There, stretched out below them, were several shapes assembled in the vague form of a village. It was still distant, several kilometers away, but now they could actually see their goal.

"You were right, Spock," Jim said, and for some reason, his voice came out in a reverent whisper as he looked at the village below. Then he turned to the Vulcan and grinned. "You were right!"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. However, now that we are closer to an inhabited settlement, we will have to be cautious. We do not know if High Councilor Teanar's control extends to this particular village or not."

Jim sobered. "Of course. Avoiding capture is at the top of my to-do list." He tried for a small grin, but it felt forced and he let it drop. They were close to what might be the only thing that could get them off of this planet, but they were close to danger as well. Jim had to remember that. All the communicators and amplifiers in the universe wouldn't do them any good if they were dead.

"Lead the way, Spock."

. . .

The rocks under Spock's feet were smooth. That wasn't exactly unusual, but these seemed intentional somehow. They had been walking for several hours, and the sun was beginning to set, so he had been searching for a cave or crevice to shelter them for the night when he had noticed that some of the rocks seemed to be making crude steps in the mountainside. He stopped, and when Jim asked him what was wrong, he indicated the rocks below their feet and stated his hypothesis.

"Well," Jim replied, "let's follow them, carefully. I doubt anyone from the village is up this high at night, so wherever these steps lead is probably empty, and there might be some decent shelter there."

The logic of the decision was sound, and Spock nodded before descending to the next step and the next, cautiously picking his way across the rocks until he spotted a cave opening about a hundred meters away. It was unadorned but appeared to be deliberately cut from the rocks using some kind of tools. He pointed the shelter out to Jim, and the man nodded, encouraging him to continue.

When they were a dozen meters from the cave, Spock stopped. "Allow me to investigate it first, Captain," he requested, unconsciously reverting to the title as he reverted to his role as First Officer. It would be unwise for them both to approach the unknown structure and risk capture.

Jim's lips twitched upward, but he made no comment other than a short nod.

Spock approached the cave carefully, his eyes and ears searching for any sign of inhabitants. He found none, and so he ducked and stepped into the cave. The room was empty save for a small statuette of the Reskarian god that sat upon a pedestal in the center of the space. At the base of the figurine were several rotten remains of what appeared to be food offerings to the god. Along the back wall was what appeared to be a pool fed by some kind of water source from deeper within the mountain. Satisfied that there was nothing that would cause him or his captain harm, Spock left the cave and returned to Jim.

"The cave appears to be some kind of shrine," Spock reported. "It is empty and does not appear to have been visited recently. The offerings within are rotten or stale and have likely been there for at least seven days, possibly longer."

"Well, if it's abandoned, then I doubt that they'll mind if we spend the night," Jim said with a grin, and Spock nodded, leading the man back to the cave.

Once inside, Jim found the pool in the back almost immediately. "Hey, Spock, do you think this is safe to drink or bathe in?" he asked, kneeling beside the pool and peering into it.

"I believe it is fed by an underground stream of some sort. However, I believe that it is primarily used for ritualistic bathing," Spock answered, coming to stand beside the man. "It does not appear to have any heat source, however, so the water is likely quite cold."

Even in the dim light, Spock could see the way that the man's face fell. "You're probably right. I know personal hygiene isn't exactly the largest priority right now, but..." His voice trailed away, and a small blush dusted his cheeks as he glanced down.

Spock was uncertain of how to reply, so he turned the conversation to a different topic. "If you do not have any objections, I would prefer to enter a healing trance tonight in the place of sleep."

Jim looked up from the water with a start and seemed to take a few seconds to process Spock's words before nodding. "Of course, Spock. Do you need anything from me before you do that?"

"No, I simply wanted to inform you so that you would not be alarmed if waking me should become difficult," Spock replied, shaking his head once.

"Alright. I'll wake you in the morning if you aren't already up."

Spock nodded and stepped away from the pool, toward the wall to his left. The ground in a square two meters across was smoother here and the cold air from outside the cave did not seem as powerful. It was likely the best place he would find for his trance, and so he settled against the wall and closed his eyes.

Before he gave himself over completely to the healing trance, he entered a light meditative state. Much had occurred over the last few days that required his attention to sort and understand, and he did not have the time or energy to address all of it. Instead, he sought out one event in particular, determined to at least understand it before he entered his trance.

This morning when he woke Jim, the man had caused a myriad of emotions, a mixture that Spock was relatively used to feeling whenever he was around the man. But this time, there was something different. Something felt stronger, more real than it ever had before. Frowning inwardly, Spock attempted to isolate what it was about that moment that made it different from all of the others, but he could find nothing substantial.

He had woken Jim, but he had done that before. The man had yawned and grinned, but he had done that before as well. What was it that made this different? For some reason, Spock's mind—and dare he say, heart—saw things differently. He could not explain or identify what had changed, but he knew that something had. It would require more time to understand fully, but the pain from his leg was beginning to bleed into his mind, and so Spock let go of his meditation reluctantly, filing the memory away for further examination later and slipped into his healing trance, a feat that was becoming easier and easier to accomplish.


	25. The Face of War

A/N TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter describes both the aftermath of a massacre and the reaction of someone who experienced one. I don't feel like it is overly-detailed, but I figured I should play it safe.

After Spock informed him of his intention to enter his healing trance and left his side, Jim turned his attention to the water in front of him. It was nearly crystal clear, although the cave was now too dark for him to actually see the bottom of the pool. As he stared, part of his mind idly wondered what kind of rituals the Reskarians performed here. Spock had mentioned ritualistic cleansing, which was probably true. What would a ceremony like that entail?

On Earth, there were several different traditions of people entering water and emerging purer in mind and body and spirit. Most of the ones he knew about were Christian in origin, but he was fairly certain there were other religions that did it as well. He could understand the symbolism, even without religion behind it. There was something...liberating about emerging from the water. Water was a dangerous thing, to conquer it, even for a moment, was invigorating.

His mind was wandering away from him again. It had been doing that far too often recently. Despite that, he didn't make any real effort to stop it from doing so again. Instead, he simply gazed at the water, various thoughts floating in and out of his mind. Most flitted in and out of his consciousness before making any true impact on the mist of his mind, but a few lingered long enough to draw shapes in the smoke. He observed them as an outsider in his own mind, simply letting them be without interfering.

Eventually, the temperature in the cave dropped to the point that Jim was shivering slightly, and he stood the side of the pool with a sigh and turned to look for Spock.

The Vulcan was sitting up against one of the far walls, his posture as impeccable as always and eyes closed. Jim approached softly, careful to avoid disturbing his healing. Once he was closer, he was able to see some of the weariness and faint echoes of pain in Spock's face, and he had to consciously force his muscles to relax. He shouldn't have let Spock push himself so much, but there was nothing he could do about that now, and his excessive emotions wouldn't do anything than distract the Vulcan. With those thoughts firmly at the forefront of his mind, Jim settled down next to Spock, keeping about a quarter of a meter's space between them.

He closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him. After almost a half-hour with no luck, he resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't be getting any rest tonight. Instead, he turned his thoughts to what tomorrow would hold, and the night passed on.

. . .

Around six o'clock in the morning—if Jim's internal clock was anywhere near accurate still, which he somewhat doubted—Spock began to stir. His breathing pattern changed, become quicker and lighter, and Jim felt him shift and heard the bones in his back crack as he stretched. Then, brown eyes found his in the not-light of the morning.

"You did not sleep." It was a statement, not a question, and Jim didn't bother to ask how the Vulcan knew.

"Technically, you didn't either," he responded, knowing that Spock would raise an eyebrow at him, which he did, before adding, "Besides, with us being this close to the village, it's a good idea to have someone on watch in case anything happens." He had thought up that excuse sometime around 0100 this morning, long after he should have drifted to sleep.

The eyebrow lowered, and Spock tipped his head in acknowledgment of the logic of Jim's statement. Jim knew he was likely worried, but they had other things to focus on, and the truth was that he was fine. He was. He hadn't spiraled into that dark place that his mind sometimes went last night, he had just...thought. Thankfully, Spock seemed to sense that he didn't want to discuss it, for he moved to stand, and Jim quickly scrambled up to help him.

Once Spock was on his feet, he nodded toward the cave entrance. "I believe we could reach the village by mid-afternoon if we leave now," he stated, and Jim was glad to hear that the pain and weariness he had heard throughout the day yesterday was gone. He would have to read up on Vulcan healing trances if—no, when—they got back to the Enterprise, although he doubted he would find much information, Vulcans being as private as they were.

"Good; the sooner the better," he said, focusing his attention back on the now. Then he paused. "What will we do once we reach the village? Are we going to simply hope that Teanar and his lackeys don't have any power here and ask for the supplies we need? Or are we going to steal them?" He didn't want to have to resort to theft, especially since he had a feeling that most of the people of Reskar didn't agree with Teanar's radical ideas. But if petty theft would lead to them getting off of this forsaken planet...

"I believe the best course of action would be to observe the settlement from a closer vantage point and then adjust our strategy accordingly," Spock replied. "However, if we should find that Teanar's control does extend to this village, I shall acquire the supplies we need and then meet you in a more remote location."

"Spock, you have a broken leg," Jim exclaimed, shaking his head.

The Vulcan only raised an eyebrow in response, an expression that he easily interpreted to mean, 'And?'.

"If someone were to spot you, you'd have a difficult time getting away quickly. Besides, you got to play the hero last time. It's my turn." He said the last words in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Spock's face didn't change. "I'm being serious, Spock. If that village turns out to be full of people who want us dead, I'm not going to let you go looking for communicator parts. I know enough about what we need to recognize the pieces myself."

It was obvious that the Vulcan wanted to argue, but he kept his mouth shut and nodded shortly. Jim knew this conversation wasn't over, but they could cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, they needed to get moving.

. . .

Spock led the way down the mountain, careful to stay behind rockier outcroppings and large vegetation when possible. After two hours and forty-two minutes, however, they reached a vantage point that allowed him to look over the village below, and Spock realized that his efforts to keep them concealed from the Reskarians who might see them from the settlement was unnecessary. He came to a stop, his gaze focused on the now-distinct shapes of the buildings still a considerable distance below them.

Jim stepped up beside him, and Spock could feel a question on his lips, but it died when his eyes found the ruin below. "It's—It's almost completely destroyed," he whispered, stunned. "What happened here? Did Teanar's uprising cause this?" He turned to Spock, and the Vulcan could see rage already beginning to simmer in his eyes.

"It is impossible to tell from this distance," Spock replied evenly, placing a hand on Jim's arm to steady the man. He was careful not to touch Jim's skin, as he knew instinctively that the man's emotions were strong enough to bleed into his mind if he did so. "However, it is possible. It is also possible that the components that we need will not be among the ruins."

Jim took a deep breath, obviously working to control his emotions. After a moment, he nodded. "I understand, Spock. There's no harm in checking, though, and if we can figure out when this village was destroyed, we can determine whether or not we're in any danger here." His voice was carefully calm, but powerful emotion boiled just under the surface.

"Agreed."

It was another two hours before they reached the base of the mountain, putting them a little less than half a kilometer from the edge of the destroyed village. From this reduced distance, Spock could see that the buildings had been damaged by phaser-fire and not any kind of natural disaster. As he and Jim approached, his hand went automatically to his side, but of course, he found no weapon there.

They approached the village carefully, but somehow, Spock knew that they would not find anyone alive in the shadow-strewn ruins. In his mind, he could feel a substantial darkness laying over the ruined homes, and it pressed down on them as they grew closer until it felt as if they were walking through a mental fog despite the glaring brightness of the day.

The first body they found was an elderly Reskarian woman, clutching a basket even in death. A phaser-burn on her chest indicated the cause of death, and Spock bowed his head briefly, praying that her spirit found peace in whatever existence followed this one.

As they journeyed deeper into the village, they found more bodies in the spaces between the destroyed houses. Most appeared to be older Reskarians that had attempted to flee whatever it was that had attacked them. Evidently, whoever had attacked had had the advantage of surprise; none of the bodies they found bore weapons of any kind.

The closer they came to the center, the more horrifying the scenes they came across were. In a shadowed corner at the junction of two homes, they found a stuffed toy stained with blood, abandoned in what was no doubt a desperate flight. Less than twenty meters away, the body of a Reskarian girl lay in the street.

Despite his efforts to control his emotions, Spock felt anger begin to build, starting in his stomach and slowly working its way up his torso until it had lodged in his throat. A carefully discrete glance at Jim told him that he felt the same. The man's hands were clenched into tight fists, and his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Spock did not try to comfort him; this was righteous anger.

Then, they reached the center of the village.

The smell was the first thing that Spock noticed. It had been getting stronger and stronger as they approached, but he had shut down the transmission of sensory input from his olfactory senses in order to remain focused. Now, however, the rotten smell overpowered his controls, hitting him with the full force of its strength.

A half-beat after the smell hit him, the realization did, and he stopped, his feet nearly stumbling over themselves. In the clearing that constituted the middle of the village was a massacre. Reskarian bodies, male, female, young, old, were piled two meters high like discarded toys. Some were still wrapped in each other's embrace, their eyes now staring sightlessly up at the clear sky.

A choked sound came from Spock's side, and he turned to see Jim sink to his knees, hands clamped over his mouth and tears running down his face. Unable to form words of comfort or even understanding, Spock could do nothing more than place a hand on his shoulder as he stared unblinking at the horror in front of him.

Such senseless death...It held no logic, no careful intentions, only cruelty. He bowed his head again, pushing back the grief that billowed to the front of his mind. When he raised his head again, his eyes caught sight of something glinting in the afternoon light.

In the middle of the pathway that ran perpendicular to the one where he stood, was a phaser. Even from thirteen meters away, Spock could identify it as a weapon of non-Reskarian make. Slowly, he made his way to the weapon, and he had to push down the anger that flared up when he recognized the symbols on the side. Klingon.

His stomach turned as he picked up the weapon from where it lay. How many had this weapon alone killed? He pushed the revulsion away, forcing himself to focus on the implication that the phaser held. Turning back around, he looked up and met Jim's eyes. The tears had stopped, replaced by frigid anger that caused a shiver to snake up Spock's spine.

"The weapon is of Klingon design," he whispered, and even saying the name aloud felt like an act of disrespect. "It would be safe to assume..." He could not finish the sentence.

Jim's gaze shifted down to the weapon in Spock's hands. For several long moments, he said nothing. Then, he looked up again, and when his eyes met Spock's once more, the anger was gone, replaced by a shattered expression that spoke of sadness too deep to comprehend all at once.

"It doesn't matter," he said hollowly. "It doesn't matter who killed them. We can't do anything about it."

Spock blinked. This was not like Jim. The man he knew was passionate and caring and compassionate and would be filled with rage towards whoever had committed such an unspeakable act. He had seen him respond in such a manner on multiple other occasions; why was this different?

Almost as soon as those frantic thoughts finished running through his mind, a realization followed.

"You are correct, Jim," he said slowly, stepping forward and forcing the man's attention onto him once more. "We cannot undo their deaths, nor can we seek revenge on their captors in our present state and with our limited resources. However, it is now our duty to remember who caused this injustice so that we may somehow prevent it from occurring again." Jim's hollow expression remained immobile.

"How do you know it will make a difference? How can we make any difference? We're stranded here, Spock. We're never going to see the Enterprise again. We're never going to wear a Starfleet uniform again. We're never going to have the chance to make this right," Jim said emotionlessly, his eyes staring at some distant point past Spock's head. "We're going to end up like them sooner or later, so what's the point?"

At that moment, Spock felt more inadequate than he ever had. He was not equipped to deal with this powerful, warranted emotion. He was not able to support his friend, his captain, the way the man needed. For all his logic, Spock could not find anything that would bring emotion back to the empty face in front of him. He was a candle, incapable of relighting a dead sun that had always been a source of endless rays of light and hope.

But he would try.

"Jim," he whispered, allowing some of his own grief and pain to bleed into his voice, coloring it blue and grey. It wasn't hope, but any color was better than this void. "if there is any logic to this universe, you will find your way back to the bridge of the Enterprise. That is your destiny." He had said similar words before, and they had worked to pull the man from his despondent state then. There was a flicker of recognition in Jim's eyes, and Spock pressed on. "You cannot abandon hope."

"Hope, Spock? Isn't that a human failing?" The words were a deflection, an attempt to draw attention away from the situation with humor, but Spock placed a hand on Jim's shoulder and answered seriously,

"It is human," he admitted, "but it is not a failing. Rather, I believe it to be humanity's greatest strength. Without it, your race would have never touched the stars. Vulcans took space travel to be the most logical next step in advancements of transportation. As such, they approached it with cold logic, not passion. Where it took Vulcans over a century to launch their first rocket once they conceived the idea, it took humans a mere decade, simply because they believed they could, regardless of the limits of the technology of their day."

Jim gazed at him for several seconds before nodding slightly. "Okay. Okay, Spock. I believe you." He took a deep breath and Spock could almost see him force his despair away and take up the comforting mantle of a starship captain again. "What do we need to do?"

. . .

The sun had left the sky, and the temperature was dropping again. Thankfully, Jim had a small fire crackling nearby to provide him with both light and heat. He and Spock had debated whether or not it was safe to light a fire, and they had come to the conclusion that it was unlikely any Klingons were still in the area. The...attack on the village had taken place over a week and a half earlier before they had even stepped foot on Reskar.

They had decided to stay near the village for the night. There was one house about half a kilometer to the west of the village proper that was mostly untouched where they had set up three or four hours ago. Now, Spock was scouring the ruins for the components that they needed for the communicator while Jim made them food.

Spock had been unwilling to leave him at first, but Jim had insisted that they split up in order to make the most effective use of their time. At least, that was the reason he had given the Vulcan, and it was partly true. More than that, though, Jim wanted to time to get his emotions and memories under control. He had almost slipped into a void earlier, and he had to make sure that it didn't happen again. He couldn't just rely on Spock to drag him back from the edge of the abyss every time he got close to falling.

Seeing the town square had been painful. That wasn't even the right word, but Jim was too tired to go searching for something that encompassed all of the things the sight had caused to boil within him. But it had also stirred up memories of a time long past, of another massacre that he had witnessed. He had been much younger then, and his memories of the Tarsus IV reflected that. His mind had hyper fixated on the smallest details, things like the smears of dirt cacked over the cracks in the skin of his next-door neighbor's feet. Those images were surfacing again, and he had to work to bring them back under control.

It wasn't easy, but he had dealt with them long enough that he no longer broke down crying every time they found their way to the forefront of his mind. They hurt. They hurt more than anything he had experienced before or since, more than the torture at Teanar's hands, more than the ache in his soul when he looked at the Reskarian town square. But slowly, carefully, he was able to examine them, feel them, and then lock them back up in that dark corner of his mind where they resided. They didn't go away, but they subsided enough for him to function.

If Bones were here, his friend would tell him that he needed to talk about his memories, but he didn't have the time to do that right now. Also, he doubted Spock would be able to handle that much emotion from him right now, not when he was likely dealing with his own powerful emotions. No, this would have to do for now, and maybe, just maybe, when they got back to the ship, he would be able to track Bones down and cry his heart out over a few drinks.

About an hour later, Spock returned, a bag full of various mechanical parts. None of them was the exact piece that they needed, but Jim knew that that wouldn't stop the Vulcan.

They passed the night in near silence, but as the hours passed, some of the weight lifted from Jim's chest, and some of the hope he had been reaching for flew back in, warming him in a way that the fire he sat by couldn't do.

A/N So, what do you think? Did anyone suspect that the village would be dead? Anyways, I love hearing from you all! Thank you so much for reading/continuing to read!


	26. Aftermath

Working with the communicator was calming, similar to meditation. Spock had disassembled it entirely in order to reach its inner workings and rewire it to produce a signal stronger than it could in its original form. Now, he was carefully wiring in the other components that he had found throughout the village the day before. It was careful work that required his entire attention, and it proved to be a focus point for his troubled mind to center around. He had worked on it throughout the night and the first half of the day, but he found that he was not wearied by the work. Rather, he was invigorated.

Jim believed himself to be weaker because he needed a goal to focus his mind on, but if that was true, then Spock numbered among the weak as well. Now that there was something physical for him to focus on, a problem for him to solve, it was as if the anxieties of his mind had been put into a slumber. At least, most of them.

As he disassembled a particularly troubling component for the third time, Spock glanced over at the place where Jim lay curled on his side, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. He had finally drifted into unconsciousness one hour and thirteen minutes ago, after nearly forty-eight hours without sleep. Spock was glad that the man was finally asleep, but he worried as well. Jim had been nearly silent ever since they had discovered the horror that lay at the center of the village. Spock wanted to broach the subject somehow and convince Jim to emerge from the shell he had created, but he hesitated to do so. He knew, of course, that Jim had suffered the effects of a similar act of barbarity in his youth, but he did not know how it had affected the man. His psych profile was normal, it had to be for him to hold the position of captain. But that didn't mean that he wasn't haunted.

Spock shook his head, forcing the darkness to clear so that he could continue to work. After another twelve minutes, he managed to fit the piece that he had been attempting to wire, bringing him another step closer to completing his task. The components were not a perfect match to the Klingon communicator, and several of them were in disrepair, but thus far it had been a relatively simple, although time-consuming, thing to integrate them.

As he started on the next piece, a component that should allow the communicator to bounce its information off of orbiting Reskarian satellites in order to achieve maximum range, he heard the rate of Jim's breathing increase. He set the device down instantly and turned fully toward the man, quickly surveying him for signs of distress.

Instead of the expressionless mask of sleep that he had been wearing earlier, Jim's face was twisted in pain, and he was hunched in on himself as if he were trying to shield his body from some unknown enemy. He was clearly in distress from whatever dream he was experiencing.

The instant Spock came to that conclusion, he stood and crossed the space between them in three long strides before kneeling at his side. He took a precious moment to ensure that his mental shields were in place, and then he reached out and placed a gentle hand on the man's shoulder.

"Jim, you are dreaming," he said quietly but firmly. "You must wake." After waiting a moment and receiving no response, Spock repeated his words, this time shaking the man softly. When that still had no effect, he reevaluated what he knew of Jim's current emotional state. It was highly likely that whatever nightmare the man was experiencing had to do with the massacre of the Reskarians or his time on Tarsus IV. With that in mind, he tried again.

"The past cannot be changed, Jim," he said, speaking in a steady voice in hopes that it would be something for the man's conscious to anchor to. "Reliving your memories and pains will not help those who have died, nor will it help you. Wake up. Wake up and rejoin the present. Let the past stay in the past."

As he finished speaking, Spock lowered his mental shields ever so slightly, just enough to send a feeling of comfort through his fingers. Jim registered as a psi-null, but that had never seemed to inhibit their ability to communicate through shallow melds and even brief touches. A moment later, Jim's breathing began to steady, and his eyes opened slowly, blinking up at Spock in confusion for several seconds before focusing.

The man attempted to push himself into a sitting position, and Spock helped him do so. Once he was able to support his own weight, Spock reached over to where their supplies were piled and handed Jim the makeshift waterskin that they had been using. The man muttered his thanks and took a long swallow, obviously still working to get his mind under control once more.

Once he finished his drink, he set the skin aside and looked down at his hands sightlessly. Just as Spock was about to open his mouth and prompt the other man to speak, Jim looked up. "Thank you, Spock," he said quietly, his voice hoarse from both sleep and unshed tears. "I had thought that sleeping would be safe, but I guess I was wrong." He let out a humorless chuckle and looked back down at his lap. "I'm sorry that I interrupted your work."

Spock shook his head firmly. "No apology is necessary," he replied. Part of him wanted to reach out and cover Jim's folded hands with his own, but he refrained. Now was not the time for such an action, especially since he was still uncertain just what his emotions regarding the man sitting across from him were. It would not do to complicate their relationship any further at this time. Instead, he leaned forward slightly and said,

"This reaction to what we saw is not a sign of weakness, Jim." The man's head shot up, and he looked at Spock with a mixture of incredulity and hope in his eyes. "You believe that as a captain you must be strong constantly, and too often you berate yourself for natural, healthy reactions."

"Do Vulcans have nightmares?" Jim asked, a broken smile wavering on his lips.

Spock considered his reply for several moments before saying, "Vulcans very rarely dream. However, oftentimes during meditation, memories of previous unpleasant events will rise to the surface. It is the purpose of the meditation to understand and accept these memories as a part of oneself. It can be difficult to accomplish such peace initially, and particularly traumatic events can require years of meditation to be fully reconciled."

Jim was silent for a long moment. Then, "The dream was about Tarsus IV. You know the funny thing? My mind doesn't replay the actual executions at all, only the stuff leading up to it. I know some people get stuck in the event and see it over and over in their minds, but that isn't what it's like for me. I just...suddenly I'm young again and I'm sitting crouched over a fire that we made by burning a scrapbook that had been in the family for seven generations. Stars. Sometimes, it's like my mind has forgotten about it all, but then..." He looked down again, and Spock could see tears glimmering in his eyes.

"They didn't deserve that, Spock. No one deserves that. I'm just glad that the villagers didn't have to face all of the things that I had to, leading up to...it. At least it was over quickly." He brushed a hand across his eyes angrily and shook his head. "That sounds so cliche. Death is death, quick or slow, and I don't want to pretend any different. It's just..." His words trailed away, and once again, Spock wanted to reach out and console him.

He settled for using his words to do the job instead. "It is okay to grieve, Jim, for both the Reskarians and those slain on Tarsus IV. Time may cause memories to fade, but it does not undo the reality of death and suffering."

Jim nodded slightly. "Thank you, Spock," he said quietly. No thanks were necessary, but Spock knew that Jim felt he needed to say the words, and so he accepted them with a silent nod. "I don't think I'll be getting any more sleep any time soon, though. Can I help you with anything?" He met Spock's eyes with the final sentence, and Spock saw pleading there. Jim needed something to do, something to focus his mind on so that it didn't stray into the darkness that was so near to the surface.

"I will be able to finish my work on the communicator more quickly on my own," he said honestly. "However, I have not had the time to investigate the building that we are in. Perhaps you would like to do so? It is likely that they have some form of food storage that would be more palatable than the Rekka nuts."

Jim's face brightened almost instantly. "Why, that's an excellent idea, Spock." His tone was a little too cheerful, but the gratitude in his eyes was genuine, and Spock dipped his head in acknowledgment of it.

"Be careful not to eat anything until we are certain that it is compatible with our biology. I believe the Reskarian digestive system is similar to that of humans, but it is best to err on the side of caution," he warned, but his voice held no real authority. He was simply glad—glad?—that Jim was no longer drifting in the darkness of his mind.

"Of course." There was a small smile pulling at Jim's lips now, bittersweet but present.

. . .

As it turned out, whoever had lived in the home where they were staying must have been prepping for the apocalypse. When Jim finally found the cellar door behind an overturned bookshelf and opened it, he was met with the sight of rows upon rows of jars and bottles and cans. There even appeared to be some synthetic foods among the hoard.

Something akin to excitement thrummed quietly in Jim's veins as he gripped the smooth metal of the ladder and descended into the cellar. It was dark, the only light coming from the hole in the ceiling that led to the room above. Still, Jim could see enough to know that the cellar was small, maybe three meters long and a meter wide. The ceiling was tall though to accommodate the Reskarians' taller frames, and that panic that sometimes came when he was in spaces like this was absent.

The bottles that lined the shelves were dusty as if they had been placed there several months before. The cans were in a similar condition, but all of them appeared to be tightly sealed, which meant that whatever was inside them was probably safe to eat. As he began to grab a few different cans and bottles to take back upstairs, Jim's eyes caught a glimpse of something glinting in the darkness.

After carefully setting the things he had gathered on a clear section of the shelf, Jim began to move the jars to the side, stacking them on the floor around him so that he could reach whatever it was that was reflecting the light from above. Eventually, Jim realized that the object was some kind of book with a metal clasp, like the kind that was sometimes used to close journals or other personal records. He grabbed the book and tucked it under his arm. Then he gathered the other preserved foods and headed back upstairs.

When he reached the main room of the small house, Spock was still bent over the communicator. His eyebrows were knit in concentration, and for a few moments, Jim just watched as he worked, a small smile on his face. Then, he stepped into the room, and Spock's head lifted to look up at him.

"That is quite the variety of goods, Jim," he remarked, nodding to the bag Jim held that was filled with bottles and cans and jars of various sizes poking out from the top.

"Indeed it is," Jim replied, borrowing one of Spock's favorite phrases as he set the bag on the table that the Vulcan was working at, careful not to disturb any of the wirings that lay scattered across it. For a brief moment, Jim felt a memory of doing something not that different once before on a cold night in New York City surface before subsiding once again.

"I will examine these," Spock said with a nod at the bottles before turning to look at Jim with a quirked eyebrow, "But I believe you may have found something more interesting unless the Reskarians make their books into food."

A brief sting of pain passed through Jim as he remembered doing just that over twenty years ago. He pushed it aside though, knowing that Spock didn't mean anything by the comment and placed the book on the table. "I found this hidden behind several rows of bottles," he explained. "It looks like a journal of some kind."

Spock was already undoing the clasp and carefully opening the book. Jim stepped closer to peer over the Vulcan's shoulder and saw...gibberish. Or at least, that's what all of the wiggly lines looked like to him. After a moment, he realized that he was likely looking at the Reskarian script. Obviously. It's not like a race who had never been to space would write their diaries in Standard.

That didn't seem to deter Spock, however. The Vulcan was running one long finger down the page again and again, his mouth moving in silent words. He turned the page and began the process again, and Jim blinked in confusion.

"Wait, can you read this, Spock?" he asked. Surely not. Even if Spock had decided to look at the language once they had learned of their mission to Reskar, they had only had a week to prepare. Could Spock really...?

"Not entirely," he said as he turned the page again, looking up at Jim once more. "However, the Reskarian language is similar enough in its structure to a variety of other languages that I am able to fill in the gaps in my knowledge with a reasonable level of ease. Certain words, such as places or names, however, I cannot translate."

"That's incredible," Jim breathed out. He couldn't even tell where the words began and ended as he attempted to read over Spock's shoulder. "When did you have time to learn this?"

"After I finished my experiments with the Illisgat plant, I had little else on my schedule. I presumed a basic knowledge of the language would be helpful in any negotiations that might take place, although Lieutenant Uhura grasped the language far more quickly than I did."

Jim shook his head with an amazed smile. Spock was incredible. "Well, Mr. Spock, what does the journal say?"

"From the little I have read thus far, I believe that it is a log of important events that occurred within the settlement within the past year," he responded, eyes once more on the pages below him. "The author seems to alternate between two different people, both female—if my understanding of their style of writings is correct. The entries I have read have mentioned the disappearance of animals from the land around them and a failing crop, although I cannot tell what it was a crop of."

"That sounds fascinating." Jim was only being slightly facetious. While he wasn't particularly interested in a farming report, the insight that the log likely offered into the everyday life of Reskarians would provide important context for the current situation.

"Indeed it is. I would like to read the rest of the accounts once I have finished my work on the communicator, which will likely occupy me for another two hours and twenty minutes."

Jim nodded. "While you work, I'll take a look at the food I found."

"Very well."

Grabbing the bag of bottles and jars, Jim left Spock's side so that the Vulcan had room to work without him in the way. He settled on the ground next to the burnt-out remains of their fire from the night before and pulled several of the bottles from the bag. Now that the lighting was better, Jim could see that most of the bottles seemed to consist of various forms of fruit or vegetable floating in some kind of liquid. He selected the bottle that looked the most appetizing—the fruit inside was light blue in color and round, like olives or grapes—and unscrewed the lid.

The smell that wafted from the newly-opened bottle made Jim want to sigh aloud with pleasure. It was sweet, but not too sweet, almost like fresh apple juice smelled. The good stuff without the extra sugar. He lifted the bottle and tilted it toward Spock, who looked up from the communicator long enough to give a slight nod, which Jim took to mean that it was okay for him to try the fruit.

After a few seconds of fishing with his fingers, Jim caught a piece and pulled it from the container with a grin. It was almost spongey between his fingers, the flesh smooth in a way that reminded him of cantaloupe. He turned it over for a few moments, and when he didn't find any obvious causes for alarm, he popped it in his mouth and chewed.

It was delicious. Sweet like an apple but not as crunchy and without the mushy texture. It far outranked the Rekka nuts they had been living on for the past several days for sure. He said as much to Spock and offered the Vulcan a piece of fruit. Spock contemplated it for a moment before taking it and chewing slowly. Jim watched his face carefully and saw the way his lips twitched upward a centimeter or two. Jim smiled and moved on to the next bottle.

A little over two hours later, Jim had sampled all of the preserved foods and Spock had just snapped the back of the communicator into place once more. "If the components I salvaged work as I intended them to, I should be able to broadcast a signal into subspace now. It will not be able to transmit words, but it is set to the emergency frequency, which Lieutenant Uhura will recognize, should the Enterprise come within range."

That was far from a guarantee of rescue, and Jim knew that. But he couldn't fight the wide smile that split across his face as he watched Spock turn the dial on the communicator and watched the indicator turn green. It was working!

"Spock, I know I said this already today, but you truly are incredible," Jim exclaimed, looking up to see a light green dust the Vulcan's cheeks. "Thank you."

"No thanks are necessary, Jim. I am not certain that my actions will make a difference," Spock said quietly, not meeting his eyes. Jim, however, refused to be discouraged.

"Well, all we can do now is wait. Wait and hope." Spock didn't reply, but Jim saw his expression shift slightly and knew that at least some part of the Vulcan believed that they would be rescued. And Jim decided to hold on to that belief.


	27. Memorial

A/N Man, I am churning these things out! I've actually had this one ready for a little over two days, but I wanted to have a chance to sit back and really edit it because when I wrote it the first time, I was really really tired. So. It's better now (although far from perfect) and I hope you all enjoy it!

A ragged gasp clawed its way past Jim's lips as he bolted upright, his chest heaving. For several terrifying seconds, he didn't know where he was or what was happening. All he could feel were the phantom pangs of starvation from an age ago and the clenching of his heart. But through the panic, he could sense something else. A firm, solid presence at his side. As the figure shifted towards him, Jim's eyes finally brought the vague shape into focus. Spock.

In an instant, reality reasserted itself, and Jim took a deep breath. He had had another nightmare, and once again, Spock had saved him from his own mind. He looked up at the Vulcan, who was looming over him with shockingly obvious worry written across his face. Jim tried to grin to relieve some of that worry, but the expression was more of a grimace than anything else.

"What's this, the sixth nightmare in three days? That's a bit excessive, even for me," he joked, trying for a grin again. This time, the expression felt more natural, but Spock ignored it, his eyebrows furrowing together even further as his gaze swept over Jim's sweat-streaked face.

"It is. The frequency of your dreams is alarming, as is your insistence against my help," Spock stated and knelt down so that he was eye-level with Jim. "It is logical that I do what I can to take away your pain, Jim."

Suddenly, the Vulcan's gaze was too intense, and Jim had to look away. He had had the same argument with Spock twice yesterday, and he had avoided truly answering any of his questions. Spock had informed them that a shallow meld would enable him to sleep dreamlessly, and Jim had snapped out a no so fast the word had sounded harsh. Spock had practically flinched when he said it, and Jim had felt guilty instantly, but that did not change his answer.

He couldn't meld with Spock.

Over the past few days that they had spent within the confines of this home, Jim's feelings about Spock had become stronger and stronger. Just the night before the Vulcan had been tending to the fire, and Jim had felt the urge to kiss him in the flickering light. He had promptly crushed that thought, of course, but others like it had continued to creep up, and he had no way of stopping them. He knew that even if Spock only barely touched his mind, he would see Jim's feelings for him and be disgusted by them, by Jim's lack of control. And Jim wouldn't be able to withstand that, not right now.

And so he looked away, refusing to meet Spock's eyes and give his weakness away. "I'm fine, Spock. I've had nightmares like this before, and I've gotten through them. This planet is just making them a little bit worse than normal, that's all." Jim covered up the sour taste that the lie left on his tongue with an easy smile. "How's your translation of the journal going?" The change in subject was anything but subtle, and Spock arched an eyebrow at the words but let the subject of mind-melding drop.

"I completed my work on the journal while you were asleep," he responded, turning and gently lifting the journal off of the desk where he had been working. "The last three entries tell of wanderers from other villages who stopped in this settlement and brought with them tales of murderous warriors who were unlike anything the Reskarians had ever seen. The author clearly did not believe these accounts and states that the travelers were sent on their way to Alar Tos after being provided with a night's lodgings."

"Alar Tos...that's the name of the capital, isn't it?" Spock nodded. "Do you think some of these travelers could have been the refugees from the north that showed up the night before the signing was supposed to take place?" They had never been told exactly why the refugees had come to the capital. Originally, Jim had assumed that some kind of a natural disaster had occurred somewhere past the mountains, but with this new information, he suddenly found it much more probable that the Klingons were to blame.

"It is possible. If that is the case, the question arises of whether or not Teanar knew of this level of destruction caused by his 'allies' when he was attempting to coerce you into signing the trade agreement he had drafted. Would he so willingly allow his own people to be slaughtered by the Klingons and face the threat of war in order to maintain his power?"

Jim frowned and leaned back on his arms, staring up at the grey wood of the ceiling. "I don't know, Spock. He's certainly a cruel tyrant, but a leader has to have people to give orders to in order to have any true power. If he knew what the Klingons were doing, he also had to know just how much worse the situation would get once the Federation found out."

Spock set the journal down and steepled his fingers together. He had taken that same position many times during particularly taxing chess games, and Jim couldn't help the small smile that threatened to emerge at the sight despite the heavy topic that brought it about. The movement was so precise and so decidedly Spock. But he didn't have time to dwell on those particular thoughts right now. Instead, he forced his attention back to Spock's words.

"Although I do not wish to believe any person capable of this, it is possible that Teanar not only knew of the Klingon's actions but condoned them as well," Spock suggested after a few moments, disgust barely hidden in his voice. "These villages were destroyed just before his violent rise to power, silencing potential voices who could speak against his claim to the position of High Councilor."

Jim bowed his head, saying a silent prayer for all those who had died because of Teanar's blind ambition. "How many innocents have died because of this, Spock? How many people have had their lives cut short because Teanar got too greedy? They didn't deserve this, any of it."

There was no reply from Spock. Instead, the man simply bowed his head, his lips forming silent phrases that Jim knew instinctively were Vulcan words of mourning.

The silence stretched on for several minutes, neither of them willing to be the first to break it and disrupt this small memorial for the dead. The Reskarians likely had their own ceremonies they preformed after a death, but his and Spock's humble remembrance was all that they had now to honor them and that would have to be enough. Unless...

"What are the Reskarian death-rites? How do they care for their dead?" Jim asked, shattering the silence to make way for the seeds of an idea that had planted itself into his brain. It was far from the service that these poor people deserved, and it was far later than it should have been, but it would be something.

"The people of Reskar believe that once a person dies, their soul ascends to the sky to dwell with the Great One," Spock said after a while, and a mask of concentration settled over his face as he strove to remember any other details. "In order to aid the travel of these spirits, Reskarains are typically either buried at the top of mountains or cremated. When the body is cremated, it is done at dusk, and then a surviving member of the family or the one closest to them holds a solitary vigil through the night to guide the spirit to the Great One."

As Spock spoke, Jim became more and more sure of himself and his plan. These people deserved to be honored as best as he and Spock were capable of. "I want to cremate the bodies," he said quietly, looking into the Vulcan's eyes and daring him to issue a challenge. It wasn't a practical idea or even a tactically sound one, but Jim needed to do this to bring closure to both the Reskarians and himself. It was what he would have wanted to be done.

For a moment, Spock simply gazed into Jim's face. What he was looking for Jim couldn't say, but eventually, he nodded, offering none of the protests that Jim had anticipated. "Very well. It is near noon now. Together, we can gather the necessary supplies before nightfall."

Jim nodded and stood already preparing a mental list of all the things he would need that they could likely find here in order to make a fire hot enough to do the job. Before he became too entrenched in his mind, however, he turned to Spock. "Thank you. I know this isn't very logical, but it's something I need to do," he said quietly, hoping that his tone could convey the emotion and intention that his words could not.

In response, Spock tipped his head slightly and said in an equally soft voice, "Of course, Jim."

. . .

It was nearly dusk. Spock had spent the past six hours gathering materials and creating an accelerant that would enable the fire to burn at a high enough temperature to properly cremate the bodies without the use of a pressurized space, which they did not have access to. Now, he had finished the final batch and was making his way to the center of the town, where Jim had been working tirelessly to arrange the bodies into more dignified positions. Spock had attempted to perform the task himself, but Jim had insisted on being the one to do it, and he knew better than to argue with the man when his jaw was set in such a determined manner.

Still, Spock wished that there was something more that he could do. His captain, his friend, was suffering, and still he had refused his help on several occasions when he had offered it. Why? What had changed between them that Jim no longer felt comfortable accepting his aid? Once, it had been Spock who had held the most reservations about melding with Jim, but now it was as if the man was afraid Spock would hurt him somehow. Did Jim not understand that to do so would destroy Spock? That it would be easier for him to take his own life than it would be to willingly damage Jim's beautiful mind?

Spock exiled those thoughts from his mind with a violent mental shove. He did not have the time to dwell on them at the present. Jim did not want to meld with him, and that was the end of that. Instead, Spock would continue to look for other ways to help the man, other ways to dispel the darkness that had settled over his countenance like an ever-present shadow.

Determined to do just that, Spock turned the corner of a building and stepped into the center of the town.

The decomposing bodies of the Reskarians who had been massacred lay in seven rows that spanned the length of the clearing. Jim had taken care to lie family members near each other, and he had also done what he could to clean the bodies. Still, the macabre sight was far from pleasant, and the smell of decaying bodies only compounded the effect. Suddenly, Spock was grateful that he was not cursed with an inclination to dream, for this would surely be the fodder of a nightmare.

Jim, however, did not seem repulsed by the work he had done. He was kneeling several meters away next to a small campfire, head bowed and eyes closed in a position of prayer or meditation. He was not, as far as Spock was aware, a particularly religious man, but he did not seem to disbelieve in a higher being or power either.

Spock stepped up beside him, gently setting the large container he carried on the ground, and waited for Jim to finish. After another eighteen seconds, Jim opened his eyes and looked up at him, a somber expression in his eyes and on his lips. "Thank you, Spock. Is this enough for the last few columns?"

"It is. I will prepare the final bodies while you light the torches."

Jim opened his mouth as if to protest but soon closed it again and nodded. "Thank you."

Spock did not reply, simply taking up the container once again and walking toward the last three columns. Moving efficiently but reverently, he doused each of the slain Reskarains with the accelerant. Several times as he worked he had to push away the anger and hatred that rose up in him as he looked upon the carnage that the Klingons had caused; it had no place here now.

Once he completed the grim task, he returned to Jim's side and set the now-empty container down and accepted the lit torch that the man offered him. For a moment, they stood there in the light of the setting sun, and a common feeling passed between them. It wasn't quite mourning, but it wasn't quite acceptance either. It simply was, heavy and grim and determined and strong. Then, Jim nodded slightly, and they began.

One by one, Jim and Spock set the bodies alight, the flames dancing across them with ease and soon burning bright enough to create the illusion of day. Seventy-three. When they had finished, seventy-three bodies had been set ablaze, their essence soon to be consumed by the fire and carried away on the wind to scatter across the mountains. Comparatively, it was a small number for a settlement on a planet as advanced as Reskar, but as a death toll it was staggering. The Klingons had taken seventy-three lives with ease, and likely many more in the villages mentioned in the Reskarian journal he had found.

He turned away from the grim blaze, bowing his head against the grief that welled within him. He would need to meditate tonight, to sort through all of the emotions that churned within him and weighed on his mind. There was simply too much for him to be able to push it all away.

"Go, Spock," Jim's voice ordered softly by his side. "Go and meditate or sleep. I'm going to stay and stand vigil over them. I know I'm not one of them, but—" His words cut off, and Spock heard him swallow thickly.

Spock turned towards Jim just as the man turned away from him, but the light of the fire bounced off of his face, causing the tears there to shimmer. Instinctively, Spock reached out to brush them away, his hand freezing in the air when he realized what he was doing. Instead, he gripped Jim's shoulder the way the man often did to his own when he was attempting to provide comfort.

"I will see you in the morning, Jim." The man didn't turn back to face him, but he did nod slightly, and Spock accepted the motion as the acknowledgment that it was. He cast one last look toward the courtyard pyre and then turned away and slowly began to make his way back to the house at the edge of the town.

. . .

Jim settled to the ground at the front of the clearing, legs folded under him. For a while, time seemed to hold no meaning as he stared out at the fiery shapes that lit the night in front of him. It was as if this place had been removed from the laws of the universe, a void in which only he and the souls of the massacred villagers existed.

In general, he was not a particularly religious person. He respected the traditions of others, was fascinated by them even, but he never really considered them applicable to himself. He did, however, believe that there was something out there, some being or force that put the universe into motion and was now watching what their actions had created.

What was that like, he wondered. To look down on all of the universe, to see the pain and joy and miracles that existed. Did this being feel responsible? Did it feel sorrowful? Did it care one way or the other what happened at all?

Jim wanted to believe that it did. He wanted to believe that whatever or whoever had started all of this had some kind of plan, some kind of goal in mind. He wanted to believe that death wasn't the end, that even though the bodies that were now being cremated were only empty shells, the spirits that had once occupied them were elsewhere. They deserved that. They deserved an existence somewhere that didn't hinge on the whims of a maniacal leader and his vicious allies.

As he watched over the pyre, his thoughts turned to his own situation. What would he do if the Enterprise didn't arrive? Reskar was a harsh planet, and if the Klingons were still present, it was unlikely that he and Spock would last long. Well, Spock would survive much longer than he would. What would he do with his body once he died? Jim didn't know much about Vulcan death rites, and he wasn't sure that Spock would even follow them. Jim had always wanted to be cremated and his ashes scattered so he could continue to explore even in death, but it was more likely that if Jim were to die on this planet, Spock would be forced to leave his body behind and keep moving. That would be the logical thing to do.

His thoughts began to drift once more, and Jim surrendered himself to their ebbing and flowing tides, and time slipped away from his understanding again. Eventually, his knees began to ache and he situated himself so that he was leaning against the wall of the building he sat in front of, his eyes never leaving the dancing flames.

The fire was beginning to dim now, its fuel nearly consumed. From what Jim knew of the process and the accelerant that Spock had used, it would continue to smolder as it slowly broke apart and devoured the bones, which were about all that remained of the bodies now. The sun was starting to peek over the horizon, and Jim stood, carefully stretching his arms above his head.

As he did so, he heard a crashing sound that seemed to originate from the east end of the village. Jim was instantly alert, all weariness gone. He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds around him, waiting for the crash to be repeated. It wasn't. Instead, the next thing Jim heard was the harsh sound of someone shouting in a language that made Jim's stomach sink. The Klingons had found them.

A/N All Jim wants to do is honor some fallen Reskarians, but nooooo the Klingons just *have* to come and crash the memorial. How rude. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I hope Jim didn't seem too out of character. I'm not sure if he's religious in the movies/books, but I figured that this was probably a pretty accurate look at how he might see God and death and all of that. Also, I know I've said it before, but writing Spock is hard! Like, hard! Grr. Instead of begging for comments today, I would really appreciate it if you checked out my tumblr.

I just posted some drawings a good friend of mine did of Jim. She's insecure about her art, and I'm trying to prove to her that I'm not the only person who loves it. Thank you all so much for reading!


	28. Hide and Seek

A/N Here's another one!

Jim scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pins and needles that shot down his legs as he did so. He heard that same voice again, this time louder, likely only a few streets away from where he was now. If he was captured now... No. He shoved that thought away. He didn't have time for that kind of thinking; he needed to find Spock before the Klingons did.

Carefully staying in the shadows of the buildings, Jim half-sprinted away from the courtyard and toward the house where Spock was. Every few moments he paused, doing his best to keep his breathing quiet as he listened for the Klingons. When he was halfway to the house, he heard a surprised shout and knew that they had reached the courtyard, seen the ashes and bones. They would know that someone was here now.

He reached the house two minutes later, flinging open the door and dashing inside. "Klingons are here," he rushed out, already grabbing bags filled with food and medical supplies and slinging them haphazardly onto his back. "We have to go, Spock."

Before he even finished speaking, the Vulcan was on his feet. "It will take me approximately two minutes and nine seconds to disassemble the communicator so that it can be transported," he stated, already bending over the device, his long fingers beginning to take it apart and place the pieces in a bag.

"We might not have that much time," Jim responded grimly, glancing out the crack in the door. He couldn't see the Klingons yet, and he couldn't hear them, but he knew they would be coming soon. Hopefully, it was only a small scouting party, and he and Spock would be able to slip away before they were found, but the sinking feeling in Jim's gut told him that he had never been that lucky before and there was no reason his luck would change now.

While Spock hurried to dismantle the communicator, Jim looked for something, anything that he could use to defend himself. Unfortunately, the owner of the home wasn't exactly a hunting enthusiast. There wasn't even a pizza cutter in the small kitchen space, much less a knife that would be any good against Klingon warriors.

He was making his way back to the main room when he heard voices again, much closer this time. A bolt of fear raced up his spine, and he allowed it to fuel his adrenaline as he strode to Spock's side. The Vulcan had only disassembled half of the communicator thus far, and if they traveled with it like that, the delicate wiring would likely break. The Klingon voices grew closer, and Jim made his decision.

"Spock, finish taking that thing apart and then make your way to the cave that we found. I'll meet you there once I'm sure it's safe." He phrased the words as an order and his tone made certain that the Vulcan would hear it as such. "It's my turn to be the distraction."

"Jim—"

"No. No arguments, Spock. Give me that knife you took from the Klingon earlier." Jim held out his hand, and Spock met his eyes, hesitating a valuable half-second before pulling the knife from a bag at his waist and handing it over hilt-first. "I'll be careful, I promise," Jim assured, grinning slightly at the man in an attempt to reassure him.

"Of course." Spock's words were certain, but his face told a different story. His eyebrows were drawn together and his lips were in a tight line. If they made it through this, Jim would be getting a lecture later. And he would be more than willing to sit and listen to Spock berate him if it meant that they were both safe.

"Leave through the window on the south side of the house. I'll go out the front door and draw the Klingons away."

Spock held his eyes for a moment, and Jim could see a million different emotions and thoughts swirling there before he nodded, a single sharp movement of his head. There was something in that motion that spoke of things unsaid, things that rested just under the surface of each of them. Then, a Klingon voice shouted something, and the window into Spock's mind closed.

"I'll see you soon," Jim whispered and then he was throwing open the door and stepping out.

The Klingons were only one street over, far too close for Spock to have a decent chance of escaping without being seen. Jim smiled grimly, feeling the thrum of adrenaline pulsing through his veins and dropped to a crouch. The home that they had used as their shelter for the past several days was away from the others, which meant that there was very little cover for him to duck behind. Instead, he stayed low to the ground and crossed the small field that constituted the house's yard and sprinted across the street there.

Once he was on the other side, he scrambled through an open window in one of the less-damaged homes, dropping to his feet in a small room that appeared to have once been used as a study or library. He took a quick look around the room and then began to tip shelves over, causing them to crash to the ground and making more than enough noise to draw the attention of the four Klingons he had seen a few hundred meters up the street.

Sure enough, within a few seconds of the first bookcase coming down, he heard the sound of several feet pounding against the ground, making their way toward the house. Jim allowed himself a small grin of satisfaction and then quickly exited the building the way he had come, sticking to the shadows as he made his way down the street to where the Klingons had been.

By the time the Klingons stepped inside the home that he had recently vacated, Jim had snuck into building further up the street away from Spock. This one was more destroyed than the other had been, but he found a few heavy pieces of furniture to knock over, drawing the Klingons' attention once more.

Then he left the house as quickly as he had come, traveling further up the street towards the town center and further away from Spock. With any luck, the Vulcan was out of their shelter by now and skirting along the edge of the village, heading toward the mountains a few kilometers away. As long as Jim could keep the Klingons focused on him, Spock would be safe. He just had to find a way to get the attention of all of them...

. . .

Dead grass crunched under Spock's feet as he edged his way around the village proper. It would have been faster to cut through the settlement itself, but to do so would increase his likelihood of being seen exponentially. As he moved, he had to work to keep his mind carefully blank, focusing on nothing other than where to put his feet next. If he allowed himself any more freedom of thought than that, his mind would turn to Jim and he would abandon logic and defy his orders to return to him. No, he had to keep moving.

Step, step, step, step. Stop. Crouch. Listen. Wait. Step, step, step, step, step, step, step. Only forward.

. . .

Jim took a deep breath, and the cool air rushing into his lungs calmed him somewhat. This was insane, what he was planning to do. The liquid in the jug he held sloshed as he held it up, examining its contents in the half-light of the dilapidated house he was hiding in. The container was almost completely full, and it contained the last of the fire accelerant Spock had made. They had been planning on saving it to use for their campfires when it began to get colder, but Jim had a feeling that it would serve a greater purpose here.

He had spent the last ten minutes leading the Klingons on a chase around the village, gathering the attention of more and more of them as he ran. He had seen a dozen so far, plus a man—likely their commanding officer based on the extravagant sash he wore—who hadn't moved from the town square. Avoiding his gaze long enough to light his torch on the campfire that was still burning had been difficult, but he had managed it.

Once he was certain that the Klingons had passed him to investigate the house to his left, Jim uncorked the jug with his teeth and began to pour it over the room. He had seen this house yesterday when he had been looking for any more Reskarain victims, and it had stuck in his mind. The spacious room where he stood was mostly solid, while the rest of it was crumbling to pieces, and it was filled with hay. It must have served as some kind of fancy stable or storage place, but now, it would serve as kindling.

Satisfied that the hay was soaked enough, he sent a quick prayer to whoever was listening that this would work and set his plan into motion. Then, he pushed over a large beam, which hit the floor hard enough to shake the room.

Within thirty seconds, Jim could hear the sound of a dozen Klingons bursting through the door of the house. He scrambled up a different beam that still led up to the partially-destroyed roof. He was three-fourths of the way up when the first of the Klingons charged into the room, roaring a battle-cry as they did so. Jim's foot slipped as he tried to push off of the beam to grab the ceiling and pull himself up, giving one of the soldiers time to fire a phaser at him. The burst clipped his thigh, and Jim grit his teeth against the sudden pain, managing to get a hold of the broken ceiling and haul himself up.

He ducked another phaser blast and braced himself against the beam he had just climbed. After three hard shoves, its last connection to the roof gave away and it thundered to the ground, right in front of the only exit to the room. Before the Klingons had time to react, Jim dropped the torch. It hit the hay below and within ten seconds, the entire room was ablaze.

Jim didn't stick around to admire his handiwork. The Klingons were strong and there were a lot of them, so they would likely be able to force their way out of his trap before too long. Instead of waiting around for that to happen, he climbed down from the roof and took off running toward the mountains, shoving away the pain that burst in his mind with every other step he took.

. . .

Something orange and red glimmered over the village below Spock. He blinked and narrowed his eyes, forcing the image into focus and realized that he was looking down on a fire that was spreading across the houses. He was too far away to see the specifics, but he knew instinctively that Jim was the source. The man had always had a rather spectacular way of getting others' attention.

His appreciation quickly faded away, however, as fear replaced it. The fire appeared to be spreading rather rapidly, faster than Jim would likely have been able to engineer in the relatively short amount of time that had transpired, which meant that it was possible he had been caught in the blaze accidentally. His mind rebelled against the thought. Jim was careful, he had promised that he would be. He wouldn't have done something if he didn't think he could control it. And yet Spock couldn't escape the dread that pooled in the back of his mind, leaking out to infect any rational thoughts with an all-consuming panic.

After a moment of standing frozen as a million different emotions wrestled for control of his mind, Spock burst into action. Within three minutes, he had the communicator reassembled. He was still another hour from the cave, so he secured it between two large boulders 3.4 meters off of the path. It would continue to transmit the signal there, and if the Enterprise received it, they would be able to perform a scan for lifeforms and likely locate both he and Jim, even if they were not in its direct vicinity.

Once he was certain the communicator was not in danger of being disrupted, Spock turned around and began to scramble back down the mountain path as quickly as he could, taking no heed of the pain that shot through his ankle when he slid across a patch of loose rock and landed on it with the full force of his weight. He had to reach Jim.

. . .

An odd mixture of relief and exhaustion filled Jim as he looked up at the mountains that loomed above him. He was only a hundred meters or so from the beginning of the path that led up to the Reskarian cave now, but he wasn't certain that he would be able to make it much further. The phaser burn on his leg was much worse than he had initially believed, as his adrenaline had allowed him to ignore most of the pain. Now that he was out of danger, however, that adrenaline was gone, and with every step, he became more and more sure that his leg would buckle underneath him.

As if his leg had simply been waiting for the command when Jim took his next step, it crumpled beneath him and he went crashing to the ground. For a long moment, all he could do was stare up at the mid-afternoon sky and blink, trying in vain to force the pain down enough for him to think.

Finally, the fog over his mind dissipated somewhat and he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked down at his injured leg. The phaser-burn was high on his leg, a smoldering hole in his robe and leaf-coat. Like all phaser-injuries, it didn't bleed, but the skin around the wound, which was about the size of a cantaloupe, was dark red and oozing puss. The sight made Jim dizzy, but he fought the feeling and slung off one of the bags from his shoulder.

After digging for a few moments, he found the medical supplies he was looking for. Sticking the Klingon knife into the ground, he pulled out one of the creams and began to spread it over his wound, hissing in pain as the cold substance came into contact with his too-hot skin.

He was turning to pull the bandages from the bag when he heard the sound of dead grass crunching underneath booted feet. He lunged for the knife and scrambled unsteadily to his feet, spinning to see the Klingon commander standing less than five meters away.

The warrior grinned at him, a feral smile that was all teeth. "Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise," he growled. "You are said to be an honorable man, but there is little honor in running from one's foe. Face me, Captain." As he spoke, the Klingon drew his phaser from his belt, and Jim's heart clenched. There was no way he would be able to dodge a phaser-blast at this close of a range. He would—the phaser clattered to the ground, and Jim watched as the Klingon instead pulled a knife identical to the one that Jim clutched from its sheath.

Jim barely had time to register what was happening before the Klingon let out an ear-shattering yell and charged him.

. . .

Ahash sound split the ear, instantly commanding his full attention and quickening his steps. It was the battle-shout of a Klingon who had found an opponent, which could only be Jim. In his current exhausted state, it was unlikely that the man would be able to defeat a trained Klingon warrior in one-on-one combat. But the sound had been close, which meant that Spock would be able to reach him in time. He hoped.

. . .

Jim was moving sluggishly. His injured leg was practically useless, so there was little he could do to avoid the jabbing blade of the Klingon commander. He parried a few of the attacks and countered with his own, but he knew almost instantly that he would not be the one winning this fight. His body was beginning to shut down; he had pushed it too hard for too long, and this was just too much to ask of it.

Still, Jim refused to go down without a fight, so he slashed at the Klingon's face, forcing the warrior back a few steps and allowing himself a second to breathe. Then it was back into the fight, and this time, he didn't quite manage to twist out of the way of the Klingon's blade, which left a deep red line across his arm. Jim growled at the pain and swiped at the Klingon again, finally managing to score a hit of his own, although his blade barely broke the warrior's skin.

"Is this the mighty James Kirk?" the Klingon taunted with a barking laugh, leaping forward and forcing Jim to stumble away. "I thought Starfleet captains were fighters! You can barely stand, much less wield a blade!" With those words, the Klingon kicked at Jim's injured leg and it buckled beneath him once again, sending him down to one knee. He managed to roll away from the blow aimed at his heart, however, and forced himself back onto his feet.

"I'm afraid you've caught me at a low point," he panted, trying to keep the Klingon distracted while he got his pain under control once again. "My knife fighting's a little rusty." His leg felt as if someone had replaced all of the blood inside it with molten lava, but he refused to submit to it.

The Klingon bared his teeth. "A true warrior is always ready for battle," he declared, swiping at Jim again and slashing his side open. The pain nearly sent Jim to the ground once more, but he refused to go down, instead blocking the Klingon's next strike and spinning to slash at the warrior's unprotected side. His blow was nowhere near as devastating, but it was satisfying to see that he had managed to do at least some damage.

That small amount was all he was able to do, however, and when the Klingon blade thrust toward him again, he barely managed to turn so that it did not embed itself in his heart. Instead, the knife carved through the skin a few dozen centimeters below.

That was going to leave a scar.

Jim collapsed, chest heaving, knife still buried in his chest. He glared defiantly at the Klingon commander, waiting for him to finish the job. Before he could do so, however, a dark shape dashed into Jim's line of sight and barreled into the Klingon, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Jim blinked at the shape in confusion, but it was simply too much for his mind to handle, and his eyes slipped closed as he sank into unconsciousness.

A/N I really am sorry about all of the cliffhangers, but without them, these next few chapters would combine to make one really really long chapter. And I didn't want to do that. As always, thank you all so much for sticking with me and commenting on my chapters. I really appreciate it! We're halfway through November, and it looks like I will be wrapping up this story over the next two weeks or so, so stay tuned!


	29. My Mind to Your Mind

A/N I actually like this chapter a lot, and I hope that you do too!

Spock crashed into the Klingon who loomed over Jim, his only thought the need to keep the warrior's attention focused anywhere but on Jim. As the crashed to the ground, Spock heard some of the bones in the Klingon's chest crunch, collapsing under both the force of his attack and the weight of his body as they made impact. A sick satisfaction welled up in him, and he did not bother to push it away. Instead, he lunged to the side and swept up the Klingon dagger from where it had fallen after Jim's hand became too weak to hold it.

Before he could do anything else, he heard the Klingon rise to his feet and let out a bellow that seemed to shake the ground on which Spock kneeled. He rolled out of the way and onto his feet as the knife slashed at the air where he had been an instant earlier.

His opponent was weakened and in pain. Spock could see a few places where Jim had managed to get inside the Klingon's defense, but he knew that those factors did not guarantee his success. Pain was as natural to a Klingon warrior as breathing, and he doubted that this commander was any different.

Sure enough, the warrior grinned, blood staining his mouth and dripping slowly onto his chin from his nose, which must have broken when they hit the ground. "Commander Spock. You impress me. It is unfortunate that your pacifist breeding makes you an unfit opponent. Still, the glory of killing two members of the Enterprise will be mine." He spit on the dirt in front of Spock, his grin widening.

A red haze began to gather at the edges of Spock's vision. The blood in his veins seemed to rush faster and hotter, fueling his rage and drive to force the Klingon to swallow his own tongue and choke on his blasphemous words.

"You have forgotten," Spock said, his voice deceptively calm even as every muscle in his body quivered in anticipation of the fight to come, "Vulcans were warriors long before they were pacifists."

He launched himself at the Klingon, blade flashing through the air. The warrior stepped hastily stumbled back and responded with an attack of his own, but Spock danced out of the way, hardly feeling the ground beneath his feet. He shot forward again, this time managing to score a deep cut from the Klingon's shoulder to the middle of his chest, neatly bisecting the sash he wore.

The warrior growled lowly and swung at Spock with his fist, his blade hand following close behind. Spock turned so that the punch glanced along his side and then rammed his own palm into the wrist of the Klingon's other hand. The blade clattered to the ground and Spock took advantage of the opening, swinging upward. The Klingon ducked out of the way just in time, and Spock only managed to nick his ear, and when the warrior turned to face him once again, blood was flowing freely down the side of his head, staining the collar of his uniform.

"Ha! Maybe you are a worthy opponent, after all, Vulcan!" He laughed, and Spock's vision grew hazier. How dare he laugh? His captain, Jim, lay dying on the ground mere meters away, and this Klingon dared to laugh?

Flashing forward, Spock swung at the Klingon, and soon the two of them were dancing across the ground, their feet flattening the dead grass beneath them with a crunching sound that neither combatant heard. The Klingon was unarmed now, but he still proved to be dangerous. One of his punches landed squarely on Spock's side, just over his heart, and the only thing that kept the Vulcan upright was the anger coursing through him. In response, he slashed upward blindly, slashing the warrior's cheek open and causing him to let out a roar.

Spock ducked away and then rounded on the Klingon again, his eyes scanning for weaknesses and opportunities. The warrior set his feet and then kicked outward, and Spock reacted instantly. Darting forward, he grabbed the Klingon's leg and, moving with all his strength, flipped him in the air and sent him crashing to the ground. In the next instant, Spock flipped his grip on the dagger and instinctively slammed it downward. The blade made a wet sound as it sunk into the Klingon's back, blood quickly gurgling up from the wound. The warrior thrashed once and then stilled.

All of the strength that had kept Spock upright abandoned him, and he fell to his hands and knees, his chest heaving. The Klingon's blood pooled around him, turning his hands dark and sticky. His stomach heaved, but he forced his revulsion down and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. He had to help Jim.

He stumbled the few meters to Jim's still body and collapsed once more, his hands instantly flying to the man's pulse points. The Klingon's slick blood prevented him from being able to feel a pulse, and he wiped them on his robe quickly before trying again. He closed his eyes and calmed his own roaring blood. There! Jim was alive, his pulse weak and erratic.

Looking down at the man's torso, however, Spock knew that unless something was done, he would not remain that way for much longer. There were several cuts on his arms and chest, but they were inconsequential compared to the knife that was still sticking out of his chest, not far from his heart.

Spock forced the panic in his throat down and scanned the area immediately around them for anything that could help. There, the medical bag. He crawled over to it and grabbed the bandages and containers that were scattered around it. As he did so, a detached voice in the back of his mind told him that Jim must have been using the supplies when the Klingon had ambushed him. The Klingon had attacked Jim knowing that he was weakened and in pain. Where was the honor in that?

Once he was back at Jim's side, he considered his limited options. Moving Jim would be inadvisable. Given the depth of the blade, any movement of it was likely to cause damage to vital organs or arteries, if it hadn't already, and removing it completely would increase the rate of blood flow, which was already dangerously high. He would have to slow the bleeding somehow before attempting anything else.

His mind quickly ran through a list of things to do. Cauterization, stitches, pressure—all required additional help or materials. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, forcing his mind to search every scrap of memory for anything that could help. Jim was dying, he was dying and there was nothing he could do!

No.

A thought tugged at the string of his consciousness, and he dismissed it as impossible. It returned however, and its gentle pulling turned to insistent yanking that demanded his full attention. But how could it work? He had never attempted to do anything like it before. Even the most advanced Vulcan mind healers would only be able to perform such a powerful meld if they had an incredibly powerful link to the other person already. But if there was even a chance that it would save Jim—

Spock's eyes flew open, and he scrambled to kneel next to Jim's head. The man's face was incredibly pale and lacking all of the colorful emotions that he had always displayed so openly. It was wrong, this death-like mask, and Spock knew that he would do anything to make it disappear.

"Jim, you are dying." He had to pause and take a deep breath, his voice suddenly gone in the face of the paralyzing reality spoken aloud. "I must slow your bleeding to have any hope of saving you, and to do so, I must guide you into a healing trance." His fingers hovered above the psi points on the man's face, a centimeter from the skin. "Forgive me for this invasion," he whispered, and then he lowered his fingers and opened his mind.

Light. Jim's mind was light, brilliant and coming from every direction as if Spock were suspended in the center of a white star. But instead of the warmth that Spock had always felt radiating from the man, this light was cold. This was not the light of a life-giving sun, but something different, something dangerous, and it was growing brighter. Soon, Spock's vision was entirely blinded, and he shut his eyes, relying on his mind to guide him through the void.

"Jim!" he called, calling out to the man and opening his mind further to him. "Captain!" There was no obvious response, but Spock could feel something pulling weakly at his mind, beckoning him forward. He obeyed, moving through the blindness until it began to dim. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself in a green pasture that stretched endlessly in every direction. Twenty meters away stood Jim, his back turned to Spock.

Something told Spock not to call out to him, and so he approached swiftly but silently until he was a meter away. Still, Jim did not turn, and Spock turned his gaze to the landscape that Jim seemed to be staring at.

The green grass dropped off suddenly a few meters away, opening into a void of darkness. It was similar to the view out of the Enterprise windows but missing the stars. Spock could feel it tugging at his soul, enticing him to come closer, to touch the endless night, but he resisted the pull and instead reached out to put his hand on Jim's shoulder.

The man flinched at the touch, but Spock refused to draw away. He pulled slightly, and the man obeyed the silent request, turning to face him fully.

. . .

Jim turned slowly until he was face to face with Spock. Somehow, he knew that whatever it was he was seeing was Spock, but not in the flesh. Gone were the leaf-coat and Reskarian robes. Instead, the Vulcan was dressed in a dark grey robe with some kind of Vulcan script on it, and Jim recognized it as one of the meditation robes that the man occasionally wore. This had to be some kind of mind-meld, a far deeper one than he had ever experienced before.

"I'm dying." It wasn't a question. He knew that Spock wouldn't be here if he weren't severely wounded, and some detached part of him could still feel the Klingon knife where it stuck into his chest, even though when he looked down, he was wearing a perfectly fine Captain's uniform. Panic began to set in, and the ground around them quaked, his mind destabilizing as his thoughts raced. Then Spock tightened his grip on his shoulder, and the trembling stopped.

"If you will allow me, I will attempt to guide you into a healing trance," the Vulcan said, his deep voice calm despite the emotions Jim was certain coursed just below the surface of his mind. "It will likely slow the bleeding enough for me to treat your most severe wounds and stabilize you."

"How likely? I've never heard of anyone other than a Vulcan entering a healing trance successfully." Jim didn't mean to be a skeptic when Spock was trying to save his life, but he also didn't want Spock to waste his energy if it was pointless. If he was going to die anyway—

"You are not going to die, Jim," Spock said firmly, grabbing his other shoulder and gazing deep into his eyes. Ah yes, mind-meld. That meant shared thoughts. A bolt of discomfort shot through Jim, but he really didn't have time to deal with it right now, so he shoved it down and gazed steadily back into Spock's eyes.

"Okay. What do you need me to do?"

Jim felt a flash of nervousness that was not his own. So, Spock was just as uncertain about this as he was. Well, at least he didn't have to go through all of this alone.

Despite that nervousness, when Spock spoke next, his voice was sure. "This will be easier if you are physically comfortable. Imagine that we are somewhere that relaxes you, somewhere safe. This will help to center your mind."

Jim frowned and cocked his head. Then, he closed his eyes and concentrated on a memory of a familiar room. A small space, with a table and chairs, and a familiar chess set, his knight a few moves away from checking Spock's king. When he opened them again, he was sitting in a chair, staring at Spock from across a chessboard. The Vulcan's outfit had changed. He was now dressed in his science blues, pressed to perfection as always.

"Are you certain you would not prefer to be elsewhere, Jim?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You have complained of discomfort in your back on multiple occasions during the course of our games."

A small smile pulled at Jim's lips, rising over the panic that still bubbled in his stomach. "I'm sure, Spock."

"Very well. If you are certain that you are comfortable, close your eyes and listen to my voice," Spock rumbled, and Jim obeyed, his eyes sliding shut and leaving him in comfortable darkness. "We do not have time for a full meditative process before attempting to enter the trance, but you must try and center your mind. Calm it. Do not discard your emotions, simply be at peace with them and hold on to the feeling of quiet that comes. I am shielding my mind as best as I can to avoid seeing anything you do not wish for me to see."

Jim nodded his understanding and let out a slow breath. There were a million emotions filling his mind and clamoring for his attention, but he focused on one in particular, the one constant that had been flowing through his every thought since before they had been stranded on Reskar. The name he had given it days ago didn't seem to be enough to define this warm nebula of feeling, but he supposed that what it was called didn't really matter right now.

Focusing on that feeling, he allowed it to expand, and in his mind's eye, he pictured it as a light blue cloud growing to fill every corner of his consciousness, drowning out the pain and the terror and the guilt. Eventually, he was calm, that warm feeling serving as his anchor.

"Now, let go," Spock's voice commanded gently. "Let go of your conscious thought. Let go of your need to command your actions. Let go. Allow your subconscious mind to emerge as your thoughts drift."

This was harder to do. Jim was always thinking at a million light-years a second; it was why he was such a good captain, why he manage to beat Spock at chess half the time that they played. Sometimes, his mind wandered, of course, but he had never been able to just let it go. There was always someone watching him, always someone who needed him to be the captain, the example. Letting go meant showing weakness, and showing weakness meant failing in his duty to be a source of strength for his crew.

Panic began to rise again, a grey mist threatening to overwhelm the blue.

"Let it go, Jim." Spock's voice pierced through the darkness, and Jim let out another long breath, releasing the panic with it. "Listen to my voice."

. . .

Spock silenced the fear that threatened to leak into his words. He couldn't allow his own damaged state of mind to infect Jim's awareness. The man needed to relax and willingly surrender his control over his conscious. He needed to simply be and allow his body to do its job unimpeded. Perhaps he could lull Jim's mind into relaxation.

"Let it go, Jim," he whispered softly, leaning slightly across the table toward the man. "Listen to my voice." He watched as the man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. After a moment of hesitation, Spock began to quietly sing a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was very young. It was not logical, but it had always brought Spock a sense of peace, and he prayed that it would do the same for Jim now.

_"The water is wide_

_I can not get o'er_

_And neither have I wings to fly." _

Spock's eyes slipped closed, and he allowed his mind to clear aside from the memory of his mother's voice as she sang and the feeling of Jim sitting just across from him, their consciousnesses just barely brushing one another.

_"Oh go and get me some little boat_

_And both shall row, my love and I."_

His voice wavered slightly, and a flood of emotion came rushing to the forefront of his mind. He let it come, although he was careful to keep it from bleeding into Jim's consciousness. He recognized it now as the feeling that it was, and it only made his determination to help his captain burn all the brighter.

_"Where love is planted, O, there it grows_

_It buds and blossoms, like some rose_

_It has a sweet and pleasant smell_

_No flower on earth, can it excel."_

His mother had always said that love was the most logical of all of the emotions. Her words had never made sense to Spock—too many illogical atrocities had been committed in love's name. But now, he began to understand. How could one not love someone so perfect and bright and kind? It was the only descriptor that came close to encompassing all that he felt for the man across from, and even then it fell short.

_"There is a ship sailing on the sea_

_It's loaded deep, as deep can be_

_But not as deep, as in love I am_

_I know not if I sink or if I swim."_

Spock was sinking. He was drowning in the warmth and light that was Jim. He could feel the man's mind against his own, could feel it pulsing even now with compassion and kindness and strength, even as he fell deeper into the healing trance. Spock could feel the trance beginning to work now. He could feel Jim's body attempting to repair itself while his mind drifted in the nebulous space that it had entered.

_"The water is wide_

_I can not get o'er_

_And neither have I wings to fly_

_Oh go and get me some little boat_

_And both shall row, my lo—"_

Before Spock could finish the quiet song, Jim suddenly erupted into a coughing fit, lurching forward and sending the chess set tumbling to the ground. Spock was on his feet in an instant and then kneeling by his side, gripping his arm.

"Focus, Jim. Focus. You have to focus. You cannot let the pain win!"

His words fell on deaf ears. Jim hacked another cough, and this one was so violent that he fell from his chair, his hands scrabbling at his neck, trying to throw off some invisible force that was keeping him from drawing breath.

Spock focused his mind and went deeper into Jim's until he could feel the extent of the man's injuries. Somehow, the knife had slipped and had pierced one of Jim's lungs. Panic rose in Spock, and he was unable to do to force it back down. He did not have the supplies or the skills necessary to perform such a delicate procedure. No! This couldn't be happening, not now, not when he finally understood what this glorious connection was, not before he told Jim—

. . .

Jim gasped and choked. There was a fire in his chest, and it was spreading, consuming every inch of him until he was completely incinerated, burned like all of the Reskarians, and just as dead. He was dying. He was dying and there was nothing he could do. Spock had tried, of course he had, the wonderful man that he was, but some things were just out of their control. He was dying, and he had never gotten to say—

. . .

"I love you."

The words echoed in both minds infinitely, endlessly, a crescendo and a whisper and everything in between. Eternal and unchanging. And then, everything went dark.

A/N Thoughts? The song is a traditional (English?) song/lullaby called O Waly Waly. It has a ton of verses, but I only used a few here. As always, let me know what you liked/didn't like about the chapter; I really appreciate your feedback. Also, if anyone has some good winter Spirk prompts, send them my way! It's getting to be that time of year again, and I really want to write some winter fluff (although angst isn't off-limits).


	30. Awake Part 1

A/N Finally, another chapter! Sorry about the wait, especially after that last cliffhanger, but I wanted to make sure that these next few chapters were how I wanted them before I started publishing them. Thank you for your patience and enjoy!

Spock woke to white light. His first instinct was to shut his eyes and flinch away; the light was too blinding, too cold, too much like the inside of Jim's damaged mind. Jim! His eyes flew open and he pushed himself upward, blinking and waiting impatiently for his eyes to adjust to the brightness so that he could survey his surroundings.

"Woah there, Spock. Are you tryin' to undo all of my hard work?" Spock's mind took a few seconds to register the voice, and when it did, he turned sharply, looking up into the concerned and weathered face of Doctor Leonard McCoy.

"Jim. Where is Jim?" he demanded, trying to move his legs so that he could maneuver himself enough to stand. A hand on his legs stopped him, and he glared up at the doctor. It was not logical, but at the moment, logic was the last thing on his mind. He had to get to Jim!

"Easy, Spock. Jim's fine," the man assured, gently pushing Spock until he was laying back on the bed once more. "The two of you have been in medically-induced comas for five days. You weren't supposed to wake up until tomorrow, but that green blood of yours makes it difficult to judge."

Spock took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Jim was safe. With that knowledge, his mind settled, and when he opened his eyes once again, his face was expressionless. "Am I correct in presuming that all major surgeries were performed during our unconsciousness?"

"Yup. It was touch and go for a few minutes with Jim's lungs, but the kid's as tough as a bull and twice as stubborn." The doctor shook his head with exasperated fondness. "He'll be fine when he wakes up; his body just needs time to rest. Once he wakes up tomorrow, I'll keep him in sickbay for another couple of days, maybe a week. I'll keep you in here for another day, because I know you'll just break out anyway if I keep you any longer."

Spock nodded his understanding and waited for the questions he knew would inevitably come. For a few minutes, Doctor McCoy circled his bed, checking his vitals and making comments on his PADD while muttering under his breath. Then, he placed the PADD on a shelf and sat down in the chair next to Spock's bed.

For a few minutes, the man was silent. Spock allowed him time to collect his thoughts, staring up at the ceiling. Then, the doctor began to speak.

"What happened down there, Spock? Based on that wound, Jim should be dead right now. What kind of Vulcan voodoo did you use on him?"

Spock did not turn to face Doctor McCoy as he contemplated his response. He was staring at the light above him, but in his mind's eye, he saw Jim sitting across the chess table from him, determination and fear occupying equal parts of his expression.

"I utilized a deep mind-meld to guide the captain through a healing trance," he finally said, his voice carefully blank of all emotion. "I planned to slow his bleeding so that I could then remove the knife and attend to the wound. The trance had begun to work when something disturbed the knife and caused it to puncture Ji—the captain's—lung. That is the last thing that I remember." At least, it was the last thing applicable to Doctor McCoy's question that he remembered.

His chest tightened painfully. In the moment when he had thought that Jim was dying, his mental shields had shattered, and he was certain that he had broadcasted his love directly into Jim's mind. He had forced his love upon Jim at a moment when the other man was the most emotionally vulnerable, and it was shameful.

What would the man do once he woke? Spock deserved some kind of disciplinary action for breaking decorum so flagrantly, but more importantly for invading Jim's—the captain's—privacy in the first place. If he had been thinking more clearly, he might have been able to shield his thoughts more appropriately and at least protect his captain from his unwanted advances.

"Spock? Are you okay?" Doctor McCoy's concerned drawl pulled Spock from his thoughts, which were quickly spiraling downward.

"I am in an adequate condition," he responded almost automatically, propping himself up on his elbows to face the doctor with a blank face. "I was merely recalling some of the particulars of the meld."

The doctor looked skeptical but nodded, accepting Spock's meager explanation. "Well, I'll let you rest. And don't give me any of that nonsense about Vulcans needing less sleep than humans; your body has been through enough in the past few weeks. It's not logical to go and make it any worse."

Spock didn't reply except to lower himself back onto the bed and close his eyes. After a few moments, he heard the sound of a long sigh followed by receding footsteps as the doctor left the room. Once he was certain that the man was gone and would not be bothering him any further, Spock reopened his eyes and sat up, surveying the room around him.

It was one of the four private rooms of the sickbay. It was small, cramped even, with room for his biobed, a side table, and several different machines that were monitoring his life signs and other important data, but not much else. Jim was likely in the room next to him, and if Spock closed his eyes and concentrated, he could faintly detect the man's life force coming from beyond the wall across from him.

He shouldn't have been able to do so. All that Spock knew of bonds and Vulcan telepathy told him that the only way he should be able to telepathically sense Jim at all was if he was in physical contact with the man, or at least very near to him, within a meter or so. Even most bonded pairs could not detect their partner this way, and yet, Spock could feel an aura pulsing steadily on the other side of the wall, and he knew that it belonged to Jim. It felt too right to be anyone or anything else.

What did that mean?

A million thoughts and theories ran through Spock's head, but none of them held enough substance for him to devote time or effort to consider. Instead, he closed his eyes once more and laid against the bed, mentally planning his next actions.

He had violated Jim's trust in him and likely broken their friendship with his lack of control. He had been elated to discover and name his feelings toward Jim for the love that they were, but even then he had known that they would never lead anywhere. The man was too outgoing, too attractive, too famous, too adventurous, too perfect to ever reciprocate the love that Spock felt. He had resigned himself to that in the same instant he had realized what his love was.

But he had never imagined that his love would damage their friendship. Even if all he could do was stand at Jim's side as his first mate and friend, he has wanted to do so for as long as the man would let him, he still wanted to do so. But how could he, now that the man knew the truth? Jim would never look at him the same way. He would be repulsed that Spock would consider him a potential partner, and rightfully so.

As he lay there and realized all of the damage that he had done, Spock came to a decision. He would prove to Jim that he could be professional, despite his attraction. He would excel at his assigned tasks and stay out of his captain's way. He would keep his attention focused on the running of the ship and nothing else. Maybe then this aching feeling in his chest and side would go away.

. . .

The next morning, Spock was dismissed from the medbay. Doctor McCoy made him promise to report any symptoms or pain immediately and then sent him back to his quarters to shower. Technically, he was on medical leave for the next three days unless something went wrong, but he had requested that Commander Scott meet him in the nearest conference room in two hours to debrief him on everything that had occurred while he and the captain had been stranded on Reskar.

When he stepped into his quarters, he was nearly overwhelmed with a sense of displacement. Somehow, the room was wrong, despite everything being as it was when he had left it a little over two weeks before. Even his PADD was in the same place next to the computer, a small booklet containing Ambassador Silas's notes next to it. He had been refreshing his understanding of the culture when they had reached Reskar and he had been summoned by his captain.

He wasn't certain how long he stood there, simply gazing at his quarters, not truly seeing them. His trance was finally broken when the communicator in the wall beeped. "Bridge to Lieutenant Commander Spock."

"Spock here," he replied, striding over to the communicator and forcing his mind to focus.

"This is Uhura. Lieutenant Commander Scott would like to know he should prepare for your debriefing."

That shook Spock fully out of his stupor. "Tell the commander to prepare any information about the Reskarian situation, including how the Enterprise obtained permission to return to the planet. A report of the day-to-day activities may wait until the captain is awake and able to review them," he said. Although he knew he should, he could not bring himself to care about the supplies that had been used and the maintenance that had been done while he and the captain had been off of the ship. He would take care of such mundane necessities at a later date.

"Understood. Commander Scott will meet you in Briefing Room C. Uhura out."

The communicator made a soft click and then went silent, leaving Spock alone with his thoughts once more. This time, however, he refused to let them wander. Instead, he set himself to work. Soon, he had showered and changed into his Starfleet uniform, having discarded the medical robe he had been wearing. Once that was done, he picked up his PADD and quickly read through the Reskarian mission report that Commander Scott had submitted to Starfleet. The record was sparse, however, and he knew that there were details the engineer would expound on.

Soon enough, Spock left his room behind, bringing his PADD with him as he made his way to Briefing Room C. It was not the most up-to-date briefing room on the Enterprise, but it was close by and rarely used, which meant that Spock did not have to disrupt any other meetings that may be occurring.

When he entered the room, he found Commander Scott already there, several PADDs and papers scattered across the table in front of him. The man stood when he walked in and smiled widely. "It's good to see ya on your feet, sir. When I beamed the two of ya up, ya looked half-dead!"

Spock smothered the burst of shame that ran through him. Now was not the time to reflect and drown in all of his failures. He was the First Officer of the Enterprise, and his duties to the ship came first. "Sit, Mister Scott," he requested, taking his own seat across from the man. "I would like an account of the proceedings of the Enterprise as they pertain to the Reskarian situation after Captain Kirk issued the Situation Orange."

Mister Scott nodded. "Of course. Once I received the captain's message, I followed protocol and got the ship out of there, though I wasn't happy about it." He frowned, obviously remembering something unpleasant. "For the first two hours or so, I was worried there might be a riot. No one was happy about leavin' the two of ya down there."

"I had Lieutenant Uhura send a message to Starfleet Command as soon as we left orbit, requestin' more ships. The message took some time to go through, and it was another day before we had our answer. The brass said it was too risky to risk the Enterprise in goin' back. Even Admiral Sharn wouldn't give us a shot at a rescue mission, so we had to wait for three other Federation ships." The engineer grinned suddenly. "The thing about Situation Orange, though, is it doesn't specify what kind of Federation ships we need. The nearest command class cruisers were over two weeks away at Warp 7, but we managed to find a science vessel and two lightly-staffed transports willing to help.

"I got together with the other three captains and Uhura, and we pestered the Starfleet brass. For a while there I thought they were goin' ta court-martial me for insubordination, but Nyota was able to bring them around. She's got a sharp tongue, that lass.

"It took another three days to offload unessential personnel and gather supplies in case of an attack. Once that was all settled, we warped back to Reskar as fast as we could. One of the transports was only capable of warp five, so that's what we were stuck with. If I had had the supplies, I could have upgraded her engine, but it would have taken more time than it was worth.

"When we finally reached Reskar, Ensign Chekov identified an anomaly on the scans. As you know, Reskar doesn't have a space fleet in orbit around the planet, but our scanners detected a ship. We tried ta make contact, but the other ship ignored us, and I decided to go ahead with our mission despite the risk. Chekov was running a scan of the planet when the ship got close enough for us to identify it as a Klingon bird of prey."

Mister Scott paused, a deep frown on his face as he crossed his arms in front of him. "It didn't make sense. Why would a planet that wanted a trade agreement with the Federation welcome Klingons into their space?"

"The Reskarian government was overthrown by a councilor named Teanar, who established himself as High Councilor just before the signing of the official trade agreement was to take place," Spock said, speaking for the first time since the man had begun his debriefing. "He presented the captain with a proposal that would allow for trade between both the Federation and the Klingon Empire while also requiring a constant orbiting force of Federation starships. He believed that his world would benefit from such an arrangement."

For a moment, Mister Scott was speechless, his mouth open slightly as he tried to process the absurdity of the words Spock has just spoken. Finally, he shook his head. "He must have been insane. The only thing that would've come from a situation like that is war, and war isn't pretty, especially for the world caught in the middle."

Spock nodded, his eyes unfocused as he remembered both his own and his captain's efforts to convince Teanar of the same thing. The man entirely refused to see reason. Eventually, Spock managed to pull himself from his memories and gestured for the man to continue.

"Well, we hailed the ship again, and I got the shields up, but the ship just sat there in space. Chekov ran a few scans and confirmed that there was a skeleton crew aboard the bird of prey, but they didn't raise their shields or respond to our hailing. After a few hours, I got tired of waiting. I ordered Uhura to scan the planet for any unusual frequencies, and once she locked onto a signal, I had Chekov scan for life forms. We found the two of you over a kilometer away from where the signal came from, and Chekov said that both of your life signatures were weak.

"I called for Doctor McCoy and a few of his staff to meet me in the transporter room, and then I made my way there. Chekov fed me the coordinates, and I beamed the two of you up. Doctor McCoy was on ya in an instant, whisking ya off to the medbay. Once I was certain the two of ya were secure, I warped out of there and signaled the other three ships to do the same. Then, we started making our way to the nearest Starbase. We should reach it in the next three days, and we've already been given permission to dock for as long as needed."

"Very well, thank you for the briefing, Commander," Spock said, rising from his chair and straightening his uniform. "Both the Captain and I will be submitting our own reports of the events that occurred on Reskar so that Starfleet may have an accurate record to press galactic charges if desired. However, I will inform Starfleet that the reports will be delayed due to the Captain's current condition."

The engineer's face settled into a grim line. "Aye. What happened to the Captain down there, sir? Doctor McCoy said he had been stabbed."

Spock hesitated for a moment. It was not his place to divulge Jim's medical information, but Commander Scott had a right to know what had been done to his captain and who had done it. The information would be released in their respective reports soon enough anyway.

"The captain sustained that wound and several others during a fight with a Klingon commander. I estimate the fight occurred between thirty and eighty minutes before the Enterprise located us," Spock reported, his stomach clenching at the memory of Jim's blood slowly pooling around his body, turning the grey leaf cloak a deep crimson.

Commander Scott's eyes widened and then quickly hardened, almost glinting in the white light of the conference room. "A Klingon did that to him? Tell me that stars-cursed creature got what he deserved."

"He was defeated," Spock affirmed, purposefully omitting his part in the deed.

The man nodded, a grim satisfaction shining in his eyes. "Let me know when Doctor McCoy clears you for duty, sir, and I'll be happy to turn the Enterprise over to ya; I've been away from the engine room for too long."

Spock assured the man that he would and then took his leave, his mind tumbling between memories of Reskar and his thoughts of what was to come once Jim—once his captain—awoke.

A/N What? Did you really think that I was just going to let them have one tiny revelation and then poof they're together? Nope! For clarification, in case anyone is confused, Spock thinks that he said 'I love you' so strongly that it reverberated and echoed in the meld. Which means the angst shall last a little longer.

As always, I adore comments, so please let me know how you feel about this chapter! What do you think Spock will do? What do you think Jim will do when he wakes up!


	31. Awake Part 2

A/N Y'all, I am on a roll!

Jim's eyes snapped open, and for a few seconds, he was blinded by the intense white light that shone down on him. After half a minute of blinking, however, his eyes adjusted, and he realized that the light above him wasn't from a sun, but one of the large lamps that Bones used in sickbay when he was doing surgery or when he needed to keep a close eye on a patient.

For a few moments, that information simply sunk into Jim's mind, and he didn't truly understand its implications. Then, he gasped and bolted upright. He was in the Enterprise medbay! He was alive!

"Spock?" the Vulcan's name fell from his lips the instant he realized that he was alone in the small room; one of the sickbay's private rooms that was typically reserved for members of the crew who had to be kept in quarantine for one reason or another. Where was the Vulcan? Had he—did he—he must have made it off of Reskar, he had to have.

A second later, the door at the end of the room and Bones stepped through. Jim didn't notice the deep bags under his friend's eyes or the fresh worry-lines that decorated his face. The only thing on his mind was Spock.

"Bones, where's Spock?" Jim asked before the door had even fully slid shut behind the man. "Is he alright?"

"Relax, Jim, the hobgoblin's fine," Bones assured, stepping forward and gently pushing Jim back against the pillows. "I released him from the medbay this morning, about ten hours ago. That green blood of his works medical miracles."

The panic that had knotted in Jim's stomach loosened, and he let out a long sigh of relief. "Good, that's good." He smiled and allowed his eyes to slip closed. Suddenly, he was exhausted. "How's the ship?" he questioned, his words already beginning to slow.

Despite not being able to see the doctor, Jim could hear an exasperated smile in his voice as he replied. "She's fine, Jim. Scotty wouldn't let anything happen to her. You've been out for six days, and we should be arriving at a starbase sometime this week." Jim heard Bones begin to fiddle with one of the machines next to his bed. "Once you're more awake, I'll give you the full rundown. For now, you need to sleep."

Jim nodded, but his head felt heavy. Less than a minute after his friend stopped speaking, he was out.

. . .

Spock was writing his report of the events of Reskar—it was his fifth attempt to do so, as he had discarded the others when they failed to properly convey the gravity and danger of his and Jim's time there—when the communicator on Spock's wall beeped. He stood from his desk and strode over to it.

"Sickbay to Commander Spock," Doctor McCoy's distorted voice said.

"Commander Spock here."

"Jim's out of his coma. He woke up for just a few minutes and asked about you, but he's sleeping again now. He'll probably be out until tomorrow morning, but I thought I should let you know," the doctor reported, and Spock could hear the relief in the lilt of the man's voice. The doctor had likely been under extreme stress and pressure for the past six days, and now that both of his patients were out of danger, he would be able to rest.

"Thank you, Doctor," Spock said. Then, he hesitated. Typically when the captain was injured like this on a mission, Spock was at his side as soon as he could be and stayed for as long as the doctor would allow him to do so. This time, he was not certain that would be the best course of action. His mental shields were still weak, and he had already proven that he could not trust his own restraint around Jim.

"Notify me when you release the captain," he said, his voice carefully calm.

There was a pause on the doctor's end, but when he spoke, it wasn't to question his response. "Will do, Spock." There was a click, and the communicator went silent.

For several long moments, Spock simply stared at the device on the wall, his mind running in a million directions. Despite the scattered nature of his thoughts, however, they all seemed to lead back to the man who was currently laying in sickbay.

Jim had awoken from his coma and had asked after him. The doctor had not expounded on the statement, but the man's tone indicated that it had been a friendly inquiry. Did Jim not remember the events of the mind meld? Or had he simply decided to wait to dole out his punishment once he was cleared for duty?

Either way, Spock reaffirmed his resolve to stay out of the man's way while continuing to perform his duties to the best of his ability.

. . .

This time, Jim woke slowly. His consciousness returned to him in pieces. First, he could hear the sound of people moving in the room next to his, could hear the low hum of the machines that continued to pump fluid and nutrients into him. Next came his sense of touch. He could feel the light material that consisted of his medical gown, so different from the crude coat and tattered robe he had been wearing. He could also feel the too-soft bed beneath him. It was strange, Jim remembered the sickbay beds being incredibly hard and uncomfortable, but this one was almost too soft. Then came his sense of smell. The sickbay smelt as it always did, of antiseptic and cleaning solution. Then his sense of taste. His own mouth tasted wrong, the after-effect of having all of his nutrients pumped into his body and bypassing his mouth for so long.

Finally, Jim opened his eyes. Once again, that bright light from the bulb overhead was shining down on him, but it didn't seem quite as intense this time as it had when he had first woken from his coma. Bones had said that he had been out for six days, which meant that whatever had been wrong with him—he couldn't remember the details; he just remembered a fiery pain that started in his chest and spread all the way down to his toes—must have been serious. But he was okay now.

Slowly, Jim pushed himself onto his elbows and squirmed until he was sitting mostly upright, leaning against the pillows somewhat to support himself. He thought about pressing the button he knew was nestled into one of the crannies of his biobed to summon Bones, but he had a feeling that the man would show up soon enough. Unless something else had occurred that demanded his attention, it was likely that Bones had been monitoring his vitals on the master computer in his office and had noticed the instant that Jim had woken.

Sure enough, less than a minute later, Bones stepped into the room, the automatic door sliding open and shut as he made his way to the chair by Jim's bedside and sat down.

"Good mornin', sleeping beauty," he said with a gruff smile. "You had me worried for a few minutes there, but I should have known that you would take any chance to sleep in that you could find." Although his words were light, Jim could hear a true weight behind them, and he reached out to grasp his friend's shoulder.

"I'm okay, Bones," he reassured the man, certain that it was true. "You made sure of that."

"Dang right I did," the man humphed and then fell silent, flipping through various charts on his PADD and comparing them to the readouts from the machines at Jim's side for a few minutes. Jim could tell that there was a question or two brewing beneath the surface, and he waited for Bones to bring them up.

Finally, the man set aside the PADD and leaned forward, running a hand through his hair wearily. "Stars, Jim. I thought I was going to lose you there for a while," he whispered, and Jim tightened his grip, reaffirming that he was here, that he had survived that forsaken planet and made it back. "A few more minutes, and you would have died."

Jim only nodded. He knew that without Spock's intervention, he would have been dead before then. Somehow, the Vulcan had managed to keep him alive, and in return, Jim had ripped a hole in their friendship that he likely was not going to be able to fix any time soon. He didn't realize that a scowl had crossed his face until Bones waved a hand in front of his eyes and frowned in concern.

"You okay in there, Jim?" he asked. "The scans didn't show any brain damage or anything, but if I missed somethin'—"

"No, no, I'm fine, Bones," Jim said, waving away the man's concern. "I was just thinking of what happened down there."

His old friend nodded slowly. He bit his lip and seemed to consider his next words for a few long moments before quietly saying, "Both you and Spock were covered in half-healed wounds and scars, stuff that would have happened around the same time that the Enterprise left Reskar's orbit." Jim could hear the unspoken question in his friend's voice, and he sighed. Bones deserved to know what they had gone through.

"When we walked into the signing room, we found High Councilor Orolon dead, along with several other Reskarians," Jim began, his eyes growing distant as he recalled the carnage. That day simultaneously felt like it had happened ages ago and as if it had been just yesterday that he had walked into that courtyard and seen the slashed throats of a dozen Reskarians.

"By the time Spock and I realized what had happened, it was too late. They shot us with some kind of phasers, and everything went black. When I woke up again, we were sitting in a lightless cell deep underground." He shivered, remembering the way the stone had seemed to press in on him from all sides, threatening to crush him. "Soon enough, Teanar—"

"That scumbag! I knew something was off about him!" Bones broke in, and Jim felt a small smile pull at the corners of his mouth when he heard the righteous fury in the man's voice.

"Teanar came in and dragged me away to try and get me to sign an outrageous trade agreement. He wanted to be able to trade with both the Federation and the Klingons and have Starfleet ships constantly in orbit for protection, Bones. It was insane. I refused, and he didn't take very kindly to it. Eventually, he turned to torture."

Bones sucked in a breath, and Jim reached over to put a hand on his friend's arm. "It could have been worse, Bones," he assured the man, and he hated that he knew he was right. If he and Spock hadn't escaped when they did, he had no doubts that they would have been tortured to death and sacrificed. "Spock got the worst of it. They tried to break me through him, and it almost worked." Jim's eyes slid shut, and he let out a long sigh. "They whipped him, they whipped him and made me watch. Then, they forced me to contact the Enterprise. I was supposed to hand command over to Scotty so that he could sign the trade agreement, but I knew they'd just kill us once it was done, so I ordered the quarantine on the planet. I doomed Spock and I to death."

"Well, you aren't dead, Jim, so something must have happened."

Jim nodded and opened his eyes once more. "Eson, Teanar's aide, helped Spock and I escape. We hid out in the woods for a few days, but a search party closed in on our location, and we had to make a run for it. Spock insisted on distracting him while I made my way to the mountains. He managed to fend them off, but he broke his leg on the way back."

"Broke his leg?" Bones questioned. "The scans only showed a mostly-healed fracture."

"Spock was in a healing trance almost non-stop for three days," Jim said by way of explanation. "He had taken a communicator from a Klingon and figured that he could get a signal to the Enterprise if he had the right materials to adjust it, so we climbed up and down the mountain to the nearest village."

Jim's breath caught in his throat and he had to swallow several times before he found his voice again. He couldn't meet his friend's eyes as he continued and turned his gaze to the ceiling instead as he choked out the rest of the story. "We found a massacre. The Klingons had murdered the entire village and left the bodies lying there in the town square. We got the supplies we needed though, and Spock was able to adjust the communicator. After a few days, I decided to try and burn the bodies. They deserved something, Bones, something more than just being left to rot.

"It was the next morning that the Klingon's found us again. Maybe if I hadn't insisted on building the funeral pyre, the smoke wouldn't have drawn their attention." His chest clenched. That was just one more horrible decision in a long list that had very nearly gotten both he and Spock killed. Stars, he had failed.

"I distracted them while Spock headed back to a cave we had found. I thought I had lost them, but the commander caught up to me, and I was in no shape to fight. He stabbed me, and I thought for sure I was going to die.

"Spock must have fought the Klingon off because the next thing I remember is the mind-meld. Somehow, Spock managed to guide me into some kind of healing trance to keep me from bleeding out, but then something happened and it felt like my whole body suddenly caught on fire, and I knew I was going to die, and I—" He cut off abruptly. In that moment, he had thought he would never see Spock again, and so, like an idiot, he had declared his love loudly enough for it to echo back at him in the bond. Stars, what had he done?

"Jim? What is it? Did something go wrong with the meld?" Bones asked, leaning forward and putting a hand on Jim's shoulder. Reluctantly, Jim turned back toward the man and shook his head slowly.

"No, nothing went wrong. At least, I don't think it did," he said. Then he paused. Bones was he best friend; if there was anyone he could tell about Spock, it was the doctor. But how could he explain how horribly he had screwed up? Finally, he let out a long sigh and looked into Bones's eyes.

"I messed up, Bones. When I thought I was going to die, I panicked. I thought I was never going to see Spock again, and I came to a realization while I was on that forsaken planet that I knew I couldn't leave unsaid. I was dying, so what was the harm in it?" He screwed his eyes shut for an instant, trying to block out the image of Spock's disappointed, disgusted face that he knew must have followed his proclamation. "I told him I loved him, Bones. You've told me for the past year that I did, and I finally admitted it to myself. And him."

When he said those words, the little strength that was left in his body failed him, and he sunk back against the pillows. "Why did I do that? He probably hates me now, or is at least disgusted by me. He put up with so much from me on Reskar, all of my human failings, and this is how I repaid him?" Jim's self-loathing grew with every word, and soon he was practically spitting them out, vengeful ammunition launched at his already aching heart. "And Spock, being the kind of person that he is, probably won't say anything about it. He'll just act like everything's fine. Or maybe he'll finally realize that I never deserved any of the loyalty and trust that he's given me. Either way, the friendship that we had is gone, and it's my fault."

A long silence followed Jim's venomous words. Finally, just as the silence was about to make Jim go deaf or insane, Bones spoke, his words slow and uncertain. "How do you know that Spock doesn't feel the same way?" he asked. "I'm not an expert on Vulcan behavior, but I know that he treats you differently than he does everyone else."

Jim shook his head. "How could he love me? He values logic and sensibility and people who know what they're doing. I'm not any of that. I'm too emotional and I always end up crossing the line." Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, and he didn't bother to wipe them away. "Besides," he choked, "Spock deserves someone as smart as he is, someone who can keep up with that fascinating mind of his. He deserves someone less broken, without all of the emotional baggage and fractures." He turned suddenly to look at Bones. "He had to talk me out of panic attacks and nightmares. He deserves someone stronger than that. I don't deserve to be his captain, much less his significant other."

The tears were streaming down his face now, and part of himself was angry at their presence. He shouldn't be upset by this. These were the facts. There was no point in being upset by something he couldn't change. Spock wouldn't be happy with him, and Spock's happiness was all that mattered.

The tears kept falling.

"I don't want to lose him, Bones," he whispered, repressing the sobs that tried to force their way up his throat. "Even if I can never have a romantic relationship of any kind with him—I'd take whatever he was willing to give me. Stars, I can't believe I did this."

Once again, there was silence for almost a solid minute before Bones spoke in a quiet voice. "You need to rest, Jim. Once your body is healed, you can focus on what to do about Spock. You need to talk to him."

"I will. I'm sorry, Bones. You're a doctor, not a therapist or relationship counselor." Jim tried for a smile, but it wavered and fell after only a second. The doctor didn't respond, only pat Jim's shoulder once and then quietly left the room.

A/N Did that go about how you had expected? Anyway, I think there are maybe between 4-7 more chapters of this fic left, depending on how much I decide to do with the ending, and I just wanted to thank all of you so much for joining me on this adventure. Thank you for all of your wonderful comments and thank you for reading!


	32. Something Missing

A/N They're both awake now, so what's gonna happen next?

Jim was reading one of Scotty's reports from the time he had been gone when the door to the room hissed open. His eyes darted up from the PADD, his heart fluttering with excitement. Then, he realized who had walked in, and his elation fled. He berated himself for getting his hopes up. He had been in sickbay for a week without Spock visiting, why would the Vulcan do so now?

"Hey, Bones," Jim greeted the doctor, quickly concealing his disappointment as he sat up a little straighter. "You finally going to let me out of here? I think I might go mad if I have to stare at these walls any longer." He grinned, and the expression almost felt real.

To his surprise, his friend nodded. He had asked Bones the same question every time he came in to check on him, but he hadn't actually expected the answer to be yes. He was swinging his legs over the edge of the bed when Bones held up his hand.

"Slow down there, mister," he said sternly, and Jim reluctantly refrained from standing. "I still need to give you one last evaluation before you can leave, and once you do, you're on medical leave for the next three days so that I can make sure nothing's gonna go wrong. Understand? No working for three days."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I know how medical leave works, Bones."

"Do you? If I remember correctly, I've found you on the bridge no less than a dozen times after placing you on leave."

This time Jim's smile was genuine. "I wasn't on duty; it wasn't even my shift! I was just spectating."

"From the captain's chair?"

An actual laugh bubbled up from Jim's chest and throat and out his mouth. "That was one time Bones, and the situation was critical. The Gyrian was asking for the captain, and that was me. I couldn't very well have called in sick."

"Yes, you could have, Jim. That's what second and third-in-commands are for," Bones retorted, but there was no heat in his words. Then, his lips fell into a grim line, and his tone became more stern. "I'm serious, Jim. You went through hell on that planet. Give your body the time it needs."

Jim nodded. "I will, Bones. Besides, we're docked at the starbase for the next two weeks while Scotty does stars-know-what to the engine, so there won't be anything too interesting going on anyway."

Bones gave him a long look as if he didn't quite believe Jim's words, but eventually, he nodded. "Alright. Let me run the last few scans, and then you can go."

Jim grinned and obeyed the various commands Bones gave him and within half an hour, he was standing on the other side of the sickbay doors. "Remember, you need to stop by in three days so I can do another check-up, and if anything hurts, anything, you call me."

Jim laughed again and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "I will, Bones, I promise. Now, am I free to go?"

The man scowled, but they both knew that he had no reason to keep him in the sickbay any longer, so he nodded reluctantly.

"I'll see you later, Bones," Jim chuckled, and then he turned and strode down the hallway, quickly leaving sickbay behind.

. . .

Spock stared down at the PADD he held in his hands, his eyes scanning the report it displayed for the fourth time. Ji—the captain—had been released from sickbay an hour ago. Logically, Spock had known that the man would be released soon. In fact, his body had been healed enough to warrant such an action two days ago, but Doctor McCoy had insisted on keeping him under observation longer. Still, Spock found that he had trouble believing it.

He had avoided the sickbay for the past week. All of the other senior officers, as well as quite a few of the regular crew members, had visited the captain once he had woken from his coma, but he had found that he did not have the courage to do so himself. Instead, he had requested extensive updates on the captain's condition every day, which Doctor McCoy had thankfully provided without question, and stayed either on the bridge—where he was currently—in the labs, or in his quarters.

Now that the captain was no longer confined to the quarters of the sickbay, it was likely that the man would seek him out to confront him about what had happened during the mind-meld when Spock had lost control of his emotions. What would he do when that happened? What would he say? He would apologize, of course, but what more? An apology seemed so insignificant in the face of what he had done, thrusting his love upon one who did not want or reciprocate it.

Spock's thoughts were interrupted by an ensign walking over to him and asking him a question about one of the computer upgrades that was being made to the helm while they were docked at the starbase. He listened to their question and answered with his analysis of the model along with references to two different field tests that had been done on it, and his thoughts of Jim were pushed away for the rest of the shift as he swiftly moved from one problem or question to the next, not allowing himself any further time to dwell on the tangled web that sat in his stomach and hung over a large portion of his mind.

. . .

Jim stepped into his quarters slowly. Although he had been awake and on the Enterprise for a week now, this made it more real. He was home. His gaze swept over the darkened room, and he ordered the lights to brighten to fifty percent strength. All of his things were exactly where he had left them. One of his uniform shirts was folded on his desk, an open book laying on top of it; an old copy of Of Mice and Men. He picked up the thin book and slowly flipped through the pages then leaned forward and took a deep breath, inhaling its smell. All of a sudden, the reality of everything that had happened, everything that he and Spock had survived, came crashing down on him, and he stumbled back blindly, barely reaching his bed before collapsing.

When he had recounted the horrors that he had seen on Reskar to Bones, he had been emotional but still detached in some way, as if his mind hadn't really been able to grasp the fact that he had actually been there and experienced those things. Now, it felt as if some protective shield between his memories and his current mind had been shattered, and he found himself sobbing from the overwhelming influx of conflicting emotions.

For almost a solid minute, he sat leaning against the wall, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath between the choked cries that pushed their way past his lips. It was all too much for him to even begin to process, a mix of emotions all equally powerful and all across the spectrum, making it impossible for him to isolate any singular one to examine and deal with.

He had no idea how long he sat there, but eventually, his sobs calmed, and the tears flooding down his cheeks dried, leaving him feeling empty and exhausted. He took several deep breaths and then stood from his bed and crossed the room to the 'fresher.

The reflection he saw in the mirror didn't look like himself. His cheeks were too hollow, his eyes too dim. The worry lines across his forehead had deepened, and his skin seemed paler. Despite all of Bones's efforts to make him whole again, looking at himself, Jim felt like a shell.

He had felt this cold emptiness before after particularly rough missions like the jump to New York's past, or missions where there had been pointless casualties. But this was different. Usually, after those missions, he would be able to focus on the next thing and throw himself into his work again as if nothing had happened, but there was something fundamentally different about this time.

Spock, Spock was different.

After any other disaster—and this had been, still was, a disaster—he would have spoken with the Vulcan by now. In fact, most of the time, the first thing he saw when he woke in sickbay was Spock, standing by his side. Side by side—that was how they had always faced these things. That was how they had managed to survive Reskar at all.

More tears began to build, and Jim decided not to stop them. He had had an entire week to think about what to say to Spock, about what to do that would convince the Vulcan that he could make this work, but he hadn't been able to come up with anything that didn't make him sound like a desperate, lovesick puppy. He didn't want Spock to take him in out of pity. He just wanted to be at the Vulcan's side.

The pressure at the corners of his eyes faded as he came to a decision. He had three days to decide what to do. It wouldn't be obvious that he was avoiding Spock while he was on medical leave, and the rest of the crew wouldn't notice either—stars, Jim didn't want this to impact the entire ship—so there would be time to plan. He could come up with something in three days, right?

. . .

Spock knelt on the small rug he used as a meditation mat and breathed in deeply, allowing the spiced air to fill his lungs. He held it there for four beats longer than usual, the familiar scent calming his mind. Finally, he breathed out again, and his eyes slid shut as he did so.

Nine days had passed since he had been released from sickbay, and he had spent upwards of thirty percent of that entire time in meditation. He had come to several conclusions during those hours that his mind now revisited.

Conclusion one: He was in love with James Tiberius Kirk and had been for some time. He had become certain of his love and its depth during the mind-meld, but it was during his hours of meditation that he realized, with no small amount of shock, just how long his heart had belonged to his captain. He could not pinpoint the exact moment that he had 'fallen in love'. It seemed to him that he had not so much as fallen as slowly sunk beneath the waves of his affection until he could no longer see the sky above him. For months, he had mislabeled the emotions he had felt as loyalty and brotherhood and friendship and respect and admiration, and while he did feel all of those things, there was undeniably more to what he felt than that.

Conclusion two: His love was ultimately futile. This conclusion had come the instant he had woken in the sickbay and remembered what he had done, and his meditation had only confirmed it. He had taken his time to painstakingly analyze his memories of Jim when the man had interacted with people he had appeared attracted to, and he had realized that he fit very few of the requirements that he had categorized Jim to hold. His gender was not a hindering factor; he had seen Jim leave bars with men a few times while on shore leave. Nearly everything else about him, however, was wrong.

All of the people he had seen Jim woo had fallen into two categories: broken and needing a savior or seeking a thrill. Generally, the men seemed to fall into the latter category, but Spock had seen both. He was neither. If he was broken, the source of the damage was not someone or something that Jim could bravely confront and defeat as he had so many times before. And he was not in search of a temporary thrill. Which led him to the next reason why his love was meaningless: it was endless.

Jim was not one to settle down. Spock knew that as surely as he knew that his blood was green. No, Jim was meant to continue exploring the stars for as long as he could, and he would never let anything get in the way of that, not even love. Spock had seen him fall in love a few times, hard and fast, but in the end, he had always turned back to the stars and his Silver Lady, leaving a broken heart behind. Most of Jim's relationships were short and passionate, and typically, his partner understood their transient nature.

Spock could never be one of those partners.

In the same instant that he had discovered his love for Jim, he had also discovered that he would love no other in the same way. If he were to have a romantic relationship with the man, he would need commitment and constancy. Jim could not promise him that, and Spock would not want him to if it would ultimately keep him from happiness.

Conclusion three: His love for Jim had impacted his ability to serve even before he had given the emotion a name. This was perhaps the most terrifying of the conclusions that he had drawn. As he had scanned his memories, categorizing all of his interactions with Jim and Jim's actions with others, he had realized that there had been numerous times when he had ignored perfectly logical options in order to place Jim's safety in the highest priority. Each of these times, he had managed to convince himself that what he was doing was logical, and perhaps it was, but he knew that his decisions had not been made based on that logic. They had been based in his emotions, which was exceedingly dangerous.

If his love for Jim had already compromised him so severely, how could he believe that the effect would not be exponentially greater now? He could not. He knew that he would always put Jim and his safety first. Images of rubble and burning buildings sprang into Spock's mind and he shied away from them and the truth that blazed within him. He would do anything for Jim. Anything.

This pointless love was dangerous. It was dangerous to the Enterprise, it was dangerous to himself, and it was dangerous to Jim.

As that thought expanded, filling every cranny of his mind, another thought bloomed from its center. For a few moments, Spock allowed it to grow without dwelling on it, letting it sort itself out. When he finally acknowledged it, a plan had sprung forth.

He would resign his position on the Enterprise, possibly in Starfleet altogether.

If he stayed here, always by Jim's side, his love would only grow. Jim was too kind and warm and fascinating and understanding and a million other good things for it to do anything else. As his love grew, so would the danger of him being unable to live without saying something to Jim and placing the man in a compromising situation. If he left, however, his love would no longer have the possibility of tainting the position that Jim loved so much and had labored so long for.

He couldn't imagine himself serving under anyone other than Jim, however, and he did not desire to be the captain of his own vessel. He thought for several moments, searching for a solution while ignoring the way his gut felt as if it were trying to digest shards of glass. Finally, his mind settled on the thought of his father.

His and Sarek's relationship had improved somewhat over the last few months, and his father had asked him in a recent message what he would do once the five-year mission was over. At the time, Spock had responded instantly and without considering the implications of his words. He would continue to serve under James T. Kirk if the man would have him. He had offered his father the excuse of the fascinating nature of humans, despite their illogic. His father had raised an eyebrow, but instead of questioning, he had simply reminded Spock that he was still in need of a junior ambassador to join him on his duties. At the time, Spock had dismissed the idea outright, but now he found it to be the perfect solution to his dilemma.

The idea of being an ambassador for the Federation was appealing. It would not offer him as many opportunities for scientific discovery, such as the discovery he and the Enterprise scientists had made with the Illisgat plant. He would, however, be able to interact with a number of other cultures. His skill in xenolinguistics meant that he would be an asset when establishing first contact with a new planet, an idea that excited him.

That excitement did not cover the dread and anguish that mixed in his blood.

He would not lie to himself. Leaving the Enterprise, more specifically leaving Jim, would be immensely difficult. He knew that he would not find a love like the one he held for the man again, as illogical as that statement seemed. He knew in a way that he could not explain, although he had tried several times to do so over the course of the past week, that their minds were perfectly suited for one another. If they were ever to bond, their link would be stronger even than that of his parents, who had surprised the Vulcan healers with the strength of their bond.

If he left, he would be leaving a portion of himself behind. But doing so was infinitely better than staying and causing Jim harm in any way.

Spock's eyes opened slowly as he drew himself from his meditation. He had made his decision. He would draft his letter of resignation, and when the time was right after Jim had become reaccustomed to his duties as captain, he would submit it to him. Then, he would never be able to harm the man with this illogical love.

A/N I did warn you that the angst would last a little bit longer. By the end of this week, however, I think this story will be over, and they will be happy. But not yet! *evil laughter* Thank you so much to all of my readers for your support, you've really helped me get this story written in record time for me.


	33. The One Where Bones is a Therapist

Jim bounced from one foot to the other as he waited for the turbolift to arrive at the bridge. Finally, finally, he was back on duty again. A nightmare had woken him almost two hours before the Alpha shift, and instead of attempting to go back to sleep, he had used the excess time to get ready. He had polished his boots, spent ten minutes on his hair, showered, the whole shebang. Normally, he didn't bother doing much more than throwing on his uniform—it was his work that made a difference, not how shiny his shoes were—but today was different.

After ten days, longer if he counted Reskar, of not feeling like himself, his ritual this morning had been freeing. He was Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, and there was nowhere he'd rather be.

The turbolift doors slid open, and he was met with half a dozen grinning faces. He stepped out and tried for a moment for a stern, captainly look but failed the instant he locked eyes with a smiling Chekov. He hadn't told the crew that he was going to be on Alpha today, but he should have figured that they knew his schedule by now.

As the turbolift doors slid shut behind him, a chorus of voices welcomed him back. He thanked each of them in return and made his way to the captain's chair, a giddy feeling welling up in him. But then he caught sight of a blue uniform out of the corner of his eye. He turned toward the science station, hope joining his elation.

The man at the scanner was not Spock.

Jim blinked for a few moments, his grin wavering. Spock wasn't on the bridge. Spock hadn't wanted to welcome him back. The ensign at the scanner turned and met his confused gaze, offering him a small smile in return.

"Welcome back, Captain," he said. "I'm taking over for Commander Spock since he switched to Gamma shift a few days ago. He told me to let you know that he is, of course, still available if you need anything from him."

Jim nodded mechanically, the words hardly processing. Spock had switched his schedule. There was no reason for him to do that except to avoid him. In fact, Jim had heard the Vulcan state that Gamma was his least favorite—although he hadn't used those exact words—shift to be on because it disrupted his body's sleeping pattern for several days after making the switch. Spock had put himself in an uncomfortable position for the sole purpose of avoiding him.

He needed to make this right. Unfortunately, now was not the time.

Sitting down in the captain's chair that suddenly felt uncomfortable and wrong, Jim mentally stepped into the persona of a captain. Most days, he didn't need a persona, but today he would take any advantage over the mess of emotions swirling in his mind that he could get.

"Lieutenant Uhura, has there been any word from Commander Scott about the status of the engine?" he asked, and as Uhura answered, he was able to focus on her words and allow some of his other worries to fall away; they had no place on the bridge.

. . .

Jim plunked down on his bed, tired but satisfied. He was finally a true captain again. Stars he had missed it! He had spent most of his time on the bridge doing paperwork, but what he had done wasn't as important as the fact that he had done it.

After his shift, he had gone to the officer's mess with Uhura, and she had told him what had happened to her after she and Bones beamed back up to the Enterprise. Apparently, the Reskarians, or at least Teanar, had attempted to poison them with the drinks they had been given, but she had been the only one who had actually finished the drink. Unfortunately, they didn't realize it was poison until after he and Spock had been taken prisoner. Uhura had looked down at that information, and Jim was quick to assure her that it wasn't her fault.

Once they had finished eating, Jim had slowly made his way back to his quarters, stopping to talk with nearly every crew member he saw. They all welcomed him back with smiles or salutes, and he asked them how the Enterprise had been while he had been gone and what they needed from him now. Most everyone said that the time he had been gone had been stressful and that they had been ready to disobey Starfleet orders if it meant getting him and Commander Spock back.

Jim was warmed by their dedication. He was a lucky man to be the captain of such a fantastic crew, and he had always made sure to tell people that as often as he could. Now, he was even more certain of the fact. What other captain had a crew that was willing to risk their lives and careers disobeying Starfleet to rescue him? Very few, he thought, very very few.

Now that he was in his quarters, however, he was exhausted. He had known he would be, that jumping back in head first would have consequences, but he was surprised by just how heavy his eyelids felt. Just as his head was about to hit his pillow, however, his PADD pinged, and he bolted upright again.

At the end of his shift, just before he had left to eat with Uhura, he had sent Spock a message. He had decided, during the course of his shift, that he needed to reach out to the Vulcan. He still didn't know what he was going to say or how he was going to repair their working relationship when he had screwed it up so badly, but every time he had looked over at Spock's usual station and seen someone who was most definitely not Spock, the need to talk to the Vulcan had increased.

He had asked Spock for a game of chess. He had set the time during the hours when he was supposed to be sleeping so that it would be during Spock's recreational time, and he had invited the Vulcan to choose where they played. Suggesting either of their quarters could seem like he was being either defensive or aggressive, and he didn't want that.

Picking up his PADD, Jim tried to school his excitement and nerves. As he had thought, there was a message from Spock flashing on the screen. He opened it hurriedly and scanned the words with eagerness. Then, his stomach dropped.

'I must decline your invitation, Captain.'

That was it. There was no explanation, no excuse, nothing. Just six words that all said no.

The PADD fell from Jim's fingers and clanked to the floor. He didn't notice. How had he managed to screw up so badly that Spock didn't even want to see him? Had his declaration really disturbed the Vulcan so much that he no longer even wanted to be in the same space as him?

As his thoughts swirled around and around, spiraling downward into the darkness, some of his self-loathing turned to anger directed at Spock. He had screwed up, he knew that, but he was willing to do whatever the Vulcan needed him to do to fix it. How could he do that if Spock refused to meet with him?

He could pull rank and order him to come in here and talk to him.

That idea was dismissed as quickly as it came, and as he dismissed it, his anger too faded away. If he had truly made the Vulcan that uncomfortable, he should just let him be. The last thing he wanted was to push Spock even further away, and that's exactly what any more invitations would do. No, he had to let the Vulcan come to him on his own. And when he did, Jim would do anything he asked of him.

. . .

Spock had just exited his meditative trance when his PADD rang with a notification. After a moment, he picked the device up. The notification that flashed on the screen indicated a message from Ji—the captain. He opened it hesitantly and read its contents.

'Spock, it's been a while since we've spoken. I'd like to catch up with you. How about a game of chess during your recreational hours? You can pick where we play.'

He read the message several times, searching for some kind of hidden meaning to the words. The writing was in a somewhat stilted tone for Jim, which indicated that the man was in some kind of distress, but it was highly likely that it was simply an after-effect of his first day of captaincy after such a long period of absence.

Why would the captain want to see him? After everything he had done, there was no conceivable way that the man could look at him with anything but disgust. Disgust...or pity.

So that was what this invitation was. Jim pitied him and his attraction. The man, with his open and forgiving heart, was likely simply trying to turn a blind eye to his outburst. He would be willing to allow it to be swept under the rug and never speak of it again despite how uncomfortable it would make him, simply because he knew that was what Spock would prefer.

At some point, Spock had sunk to his knees again. He needed to clear his mind, to think, but the chaos was not going anywhere. He could, in his mind's eye, see the possibilities that could come from accepting Jim's invitation. He would go, they would play, and Jim would stay silent. And so would Spock. Hours would turn to days would turn to weeks and months and maybe even years of silence over the subject, but the entire time, Spock's love would only grow. It would grow until there was no more holding it back, and one day, he would be unable to prevent himself from imploding like a dying star.

His love would bring pain and destruction eventually if he stayed silent.

He should accept the invitation, part of his mind told him. If he accepted, he could submit his resignation and rid Jim of his presence as soon as possible. But he balked at the idea. As logical as his resignation was, he knew that Jim would be upset by it. In time, he would see that it was the best option for both of them, but for now, he would be angry, and Spock selfishly found that he didn't have the strength to face him yet. Perhaps if he meditated for another hour, he would be able to find the strength that he needed.

He did not.

An hour of fruitless meditation later, Spock had composed a short decline of his captain's invitation. He prayed that the man would not press the subject. If Jim confronted him now, he would not be able to contain his emotions as he should. No, it was far better this way. He would have time to plan and compose himself. As he sent the message, however, the dark feeling that had settled in his stomach stirred again.

. . .

"I told you, Bones, I'm as fine as can be expected," Jim repeated for what felt like the twentieth time as he slid his shirt on over his head again. The doctor had ordered him in after Alpha shift for a checkup, and he had reluctantly complied. His shoulder still twinged when he moved it wrong, and the scars on his stomach weren't completely gone, but other than that, he really was doing much better. He had even regained some of the weight that he had lost and gotten a haircut in the past week.

Bones didn't look convinced. "Jim, I can tell that there's something off. The scanners say that physically, you're fine, which means that there's something wrong in that mind of yours," the man stated, leaning against the door of the medbay and effectively blocking Jim's escape route. "We can talk about it right here as doctor and patient, or we can go in my office and talk about it over drinks like friends, but you need to talk to someone, Jim, and I'm offering."

A long sigh fell from Jim's lips. He had known that if anyone would notice that he wasn't quite the same as he had been before Reskar it would be Bones, but he had hoped that the man wouldn't confront him about it. Still, he was self-aware enough to know that as much as he disliked it, the man was right. And if he didn't talk to Bones, who would he talk to?

"Okay. Let's talk over drinks," he tried for a grin, but it fell flat. Thankfully, Bones didn't seem to mind and patted him on the shoulder before leading them both to his office, where he pulled down a decanter of whiskey that Jim knew he had been saving for a rainy day.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Bones griped when he saw Jim's look. "Scotty lost a game of poker while you were out and paid me in the good stuff. I can spare some." Privately, Jim doubted that, but he didn't argue as his friend poured them both a finger or so of the whiskey.

Jim took the glass and sat down but didn't drink. For a few long moments, he simply stared down into the amber liquid and swirled it. Bones let him sit in silence and gather his thoughts, for which he was grateful. Many people thought the country doctor was abrasive and rude, but Jim knew that his gruff exterior hid a truly caring heart.

After a solid minute, Jim set his glass down and without looking back up at Bones, began to speak. "Over the past week, I've fallen back into my old routine," he began. "I eat breakfast with you when I can, lunch in my room while I look over reports and dinner in the officer's mess. I've sparred with Chekov, chatted with Sulu about his latest gardening exploits, talked to Uhura about the cultures of the latest Federation entries, I even listened to Scotty give a detailed and impassioned lecture about the upgrades he made to the engine that I probably shouldn't have allowed." He ran a hand through his hair as he spoke, his eyes flashing up to meet Bones's before dropping to his drink once more.

"But something's wrong" the man inferred, his voice quiet. "How are you sleeping?"

A humorless chuckle escaped Jim before he could stop it. "I'm not. At least, not for more than three or four hours. And before you ask, it's not nightmares about Tarsus, at least, I don't think so."

"You don't think so?"

"I can't remember the dreams," he said honestly. "I wake up in a cold sweat with a scream trying to force its way up my throat, but I don't know why. Stars know Reskar gave my mind plenty of ammunition for dreams, but I don't remember any of them." Jim looked up at Bones again and saw the man frown deeply.

"It's more than dreams though, isn't it?"

When had his friend become so perceptive? "Yes," he admitted. "This'll sound crazy, but the bed's too soft. I know Starfleet mattresses aren't much better than cardboard boxes, but I moved all my stuff to the floor."

"Jim..."

"I know, Bones, I know there's something wrong, but I don't—I don't think it's just in my head." He looked down again and took a deep breath. Bones already knew he was head over heels for Spock, so this information wouldn't be earth-shattering or anything, but he hated admitting how dependent he had become on the Vulcan.

"It feels wrong, sleeping alone," he said into his drink, his voice so quiet he wasn't certain that Bones could even hear him. "When we were on Reskar, there wasn't much we could do about the cold and with his lower tolerance..." He sighed and took a sip of his drink, savoring the burn in his throat as he swallowed. "I woke up with him in my arms, Bones. I mean, I knew that it was a matter of survival, but I couldn't help...it's stupid, but now every time I fall asleep, I know there's something missing."

Bones still hadn't touched his drink, and there was a look of extreme contemplation in his eyes as he carefully chose his next words. "Surviving something like the two of you did, when you had no one to rely on but one another, brings people together in ways that other people have difficulty understanding. The two of you went through hell, Jim, and you aren't talking about it. You need to. You both need someone to lean on right now, and it makes sense for you to do that together."

Jim shook his head slowly. "I tried, Bones. I asked him for a game of chess like we used to do, and he declined the offer. He switched his schedule so that he won't have to see me. I've offended him, and I'm not going to go and make it worse. He doesn't deserve that."

A thoughtful frown found its way onto his friend's face. The man was silent for several moments, long enough for Jim to begin to wonder if he was finally out of advice to give. Then, he said, "What if he's just scared? What if that green-blooded hobgoblin is afraid that your declaration of love was only said out of desperation or adrenaline? Maybe he thinks that now that you're in possession of all of your faculties, you don't mean it, and maybe he doesn't want to have to hear you say that."

If Jim hadn't set his glass down before Bones had started talking, he would have dropped it. "That's impossible. If anything, Spock would be relieved not to have to deal with me loving him."

Bones looked like he disagreed, but he stayed silent, and for the next hour or so, they talked of other things. Finally, Jim left his friend and made his way back to his room. He hesitated outside for a few moments, looking at the door just a few meters away.

Spock likely wasn't in his room right now; Gamma shift started in about seven hours, which meant that it was technically Spock's time to sleep, but Jim knew that the man rarely did so until the last three or four hours. That didn't stop a part of Jim from wanting to walk over and knock on the door anyway. He stared for a moment longer and then entered the code to his own room with a sigh and stepped inside.

A/N Can you feel the tension? As always, I love all of you for reading and commenting! Let me know what you're thinking! This story will be completely updated by the end of the week, likely sooner.


	34. My Thoughts to Your Thoughts

A/N Enjoy!

Spock woke from his sleep with a scream trying to force its way from his throat. He swallowed it, forcing it back down to his stomach, where it churned and demanded to be let free. He ignored it, focusing instead on what it was that had caused such an adverse reaction. Try as he might, however, he could not recall the particulars of his dream. This was unusual, but then again, there was very little about his sleep over the past week that deserved the term.

He had moved his bedding to the floor after three days of restless sleep on his bed. He determined that his body had adjusted to sleeping on firmer surfaces while he had been stranded on Reskar, but even when he moved, his sleep barely improved. He was constantly cold as well, despite the fact that his room was set to two degrees higher than his standard temperature settings.

Meditating had not helped either. Every time he attempted to quiet his mind, he was met instead with visions and memories of Jim. In his last attempt, he had been unable to focus, as he had been able to feel the man's presence in his room next door. He had returned during his recreational hours and had not left. It was during that particular meditation that Spock had realized in a flash of horror why he could feel Jim's presence from so far away.

Somehow, either during the meld he initiated to save Jim's life on Reskar or before, his mind had established a partial bond with his captain's. As his mind recalled that shameful fact, Spock came to a decision. The longer he stayed on the Enterprise, the more dangerous he became to Jim. The likelihood of an event occurring which would necessitate Spock initiating a meld with Jim again was high and each time he did so, the chance of his mind fully bonding to Jim's increased as well. He could not allow that.

Spock stood from his makeshift bed and began to ready himself for his shift on the bridge. It did not begin for another hour and twenty-nine minutes, which would allow him time to submit his resignation to the captain. He could not continue to avoid doing what had to be done.

. . .

Jim rubbed his eyes and reread the paragraph in front of him for the third time. Still, it didn't make any sense, as if the words were leaving his mind the instant he read them. He was about to simply close the book and find something else to focus on when the intercom connected to his door switched on.

"Spock here, Captain."

For a few seconds, longer than was socially acceptable, Jim didn't respond. Spock was here? Why? What had changed? Finally, he regained his manners. "Come on in." A second later, the doors slid open to reveal Spock, already dressed in his science blues despite the fact that his shift wasn't for another hour and a half. For a long moment, the Vulcan stood in the doorway, face impassive and unreadable. Then, he stepped inside, stopping a meter or so from the desk where Jim sat.

Under the man's silent gaze, Jim suddenly found himself self-conscious of the raggedy old tee shirt and sweatpants he was wearing. He had changed into something more comfortable almost the instant he had gotten back to his room, and now he wished he hadn't.

Still, he pushed those feelings away and sat up straighter in his chair and put on his best smile. "What do you need, Mr. Spock?" he asked, praying that he sounded professional enough. He could feel the anxiety building in his chest, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on Spock instead.

The Vulcan didn't speak as he handed over a data PADD, a report already open on its screen. Jim accepted the PADD, his grin fading. Was this all that Spock needed? His signature? "You didn't have to wake up early just to get me to sign a report, Mr. Spock. You could have left it with my yeoman," he stated, looking up at the Vulcan, who had fallen into parade rest.

"I believe you deserve the courtesy of receiving this from me in-person," Spock replied in an even tone, his gaze fixed on some point above Jim's shoulder.

Jim's eyes widened at those words, and he quickly looked back down at the PADD he held. At first, his eyes refused to believe that what he was seeing was real. He scrolled through the multiple-page document, looking for some sign that this was an elaborate hoax but found none. By the time he finished reading, he was shaking with the force of his repressed sobs.

He felt Spock move forward a step and then freeze again. Stars, he should be able to control his emotions! He had known that Spock might decide to do something like this, but he had hoped he would at least have the chance to apologize first. He should have listened to Bones, he should have talked to Spock the second he had been released from sickbay. But no, he had been a coward, and now he was paying the price. Spock was resigning.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry, Spock," Jim choked out, blinking away his tears, unable to look up at the Vulcan half a meter away. "I'm sorry. If this is really what you want, I won't stop you, but I swear I never meant to push you away." The words were tumbling out of his mouth now, and he was unable to slow or stop them. "If it's my unprofessional behavior that's the problem, I swear by every star in the galaxy that I'll do better. I will. You shouldn't have to leave the Enterprise because of my actions. If you want, I'll submit myself to the Starfleet command for discipline or move quarters or do whatever you want. Please, Spock, please don't leave."

He was sobbing now, the tears running hot down his cheeks, and he didn't even bother to wipe them away. What more damage could he do to Spock's opinion of him? He was leaving, and it was his fault. He should have been better, he should have—Jim's spiraling thoughts were halted by Spock, who broke his parade rest to take a step around the desk and kneel next to him.

"Captain, I believe you are laboring under false pretenses," he said in his quiet, deep voice. Jim risked glancing down at him and saw something trying to break free from the strict mask that still covered the Vulcan's facial features. "My resignation is not the result of any inappropriate action on your part but rather is a result of my own inability to control my emotions."

Jim's tears stopped, and he frowned shakily. "What—what are you talking about, Spock? I'm the one that messed up during that meld. All you were trying to do was save my life, and I went and confessed my love for you in the worst possible way."

Meeting Spock's eyes again, he found that the mask had shattered, leaving the Vulcan's feelings painted on his face. Currently, one eyebrow was raised, and the set of his lips told Jim that the man was surprised.

"You must have heard me say it," he said, frowning. "I mean, I'm not an expert on mind melds, but you've told me that I tend to project my emotions, and I know for sure that I projected that one. Again, I'm sorry, and I swear I won't act on it or anything and—"

"Captain, Jim, I believe we have both been in error. During the meld, when I believed you to be dying," he paused and took a breath. "I, too, confessed the depth of my feelings for you. When I woke, I believed that I had done so with enough force to cause it to echo within the meld, but I can see now that my presumption was incorrect. Jim, I submitted my resignation because I did not want my love to negatively impact you in any way. If I had realized..."

Jim slipped off of his chair to kneel on the floor across from Spock, their knees brushing together as he did so. "Spock, are you sure? I mean, I didn't somehow put that idea in your head during the meld, did I? I don't want you to feel like you have to reciprocate my feelings because I completely understand if you don't." He held his breath as he waited for Spock's response, and he wasn't sure what he wanted to hear.

Spock shook his head. "No, Jim. These feelings are my own, and I have harbored them for some time, although I did not recognize them for what they were." Spock's face suddenly clouded. "However, it is quite possible that they do not entirely mirror your own. Vulcans do not enter relationships casually, as humans often do." He paused for a moment, and Jim waited patiently. Whatever Spock had to say was obviously important to him.

"At some point, my mind began to form a bond with yours. I was not aware of it, and it was unintentional, but already, it is stronger than many marriage-bonds are on Vulcan." His eyes caught Jim's, and Jim saw love and fear swirling in them in equal parts. "There is no other for me, but I do not desire you to feel obligated to me in any way. I could not be satisfied with a transient romantic relationship."

Jim blinked a few times, trying to process Spock's words. When they finally sunk in, his eyes widened. Bones had been right, Spock was scared, although not for the reasons the doctor had suggested. "No, Spock. This isn't like that." He shook his head, struggling to find the words to describe what his love felt like in a way that the Vulcan would understand. "I know you've seen me with a number of people, and I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't love some of them, because I did, but this is different. This has been in my mind for months, maybe over a year, and I never knew what it was because I had never felt a love so natural, so perfect, before."

Spock was still looking at him with uncertainty, and Jim bit his lip thoughtfully. How could he prove to the Vulcan he was certain about this, about them, in a way he had never been certain of anything else in his life? "Can you meld us, Spock?" he asked as an idea sprung to the front of his mind. "It would be easier than trying to explain this."

The Vulcan frowned. "In my emotionally compromised state, it would be difficult to keep myself from seeing your thoughts and feelings beyond those you desire to share, and you would likely be able to see many of mine."

"I understand. If you don't want to do it, that's fine, but I don't mind."

Spock was silent for several moments before nodding slowly and raising his hand. His fingers hovered over Jim's psi points until he nodded, and then everything shifted.

. . .

Spock stepped carefully into Jim's mind. The man's conscience pulled insistently at him, and Spock knew that if he were to surrender his control, they would bond fully in an instant, so he held himself back, treading cautiously through the brightness. Unlike the last time he had walked in Jim's mind, this light was warm, akin to the gentle but brilliant light of a thousand life-giving suns. After a few moments—or it could have been hours, time was unfathomable within the confines of a meld this deep—he felt the warm light around him pulling on his mind, urging him to move with the meld, and he allowed himself to do so, and the endless light shifted to a new scene.

Suddenly, Spock was standing in a dimly lit cell. For an instant, panic seized him, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Jim.

"I wasn't sure that I could actually do this," the man whispered, gesturing to the scene in front of them. "This is my memory of when I realized I loved you." Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim chuckled. "I know, I know, it's not the most romantic place, but it's where I finally realized what this feeling I felt was." Jim slid his hand into Spock's and then looked up at him, his eyes asking if this was okay. Spock tried to ignore the pleasant sparks he felt at the touch and nodded. A few moments later, he gasped softly as he felt a surge of warmth and affection and certainty flood through the meld and into his mind.

For several moments, all he could do was bask in the emotions, knowing that they were aimed at him, that this was what Jim had felt all those weeks ago. They had both been facing certain death, and yet Jim had held this much love in his heart despite everything.

"You would think, feeling something like that nearly constantly, I would have noticed. But I didn't. It was just a pleasant current running in the background of my life until it was suddenly thrust to the forefront." Jim shook his head with a small smile. "I wish I had realized it sooner."

"Why did you not say anything?" The words were out of Spock's mouth before they had processed in his mind. It was a rude and rather hypocritical question for him to ask, but Jim, being the man he was, simply smiled and shook his head.

"I thought about it." As he spoke, the scenery around them shifted and changed until they were standing in a forest, the same forest that they had spent several days hiding in while on Reskar. "You know that time I was late checking in with you?" The man asked, leaning against one of the Rekka trees.

Spock nodded. He had not been very worried about the man as he had only been a half-hour late, but he had wondered what had distracted him enough to make him lose track of the time.

"I was thinking about whether or not to tell you how I felt. The night before was the first night we slept next to one another to conserve body heat, and you had warned me that your mental shields likely were not strong enough to prevent you from seeing my thoughts, and I was okay with that. If it meant keeping you safe, it was worth it.

"But the next morning, you didn't act any different, and I wasn't sure if you knew or not. I was certain that you wouldn't reciprocate my feelings, and I didn't want to face your rejection and cause a rift to form between us when we needed to be able to work together to survive."

Regret wound its way through Spock's side and chest, and he frowned. He could feel the emotions that Jim had felt when he had stood here and contemplated these things. He could feel the certainty that his love could never be reciprocated. More importantly, he could still feel some of those emotions coming from Jim even now, as if the man wanted this to be real but was not convinced that it was.

"Jim, may I show you one of my own memories?" he asked softly. The man's eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded, and a few moments later, the landscape changed once again.

They were standing among the rocks of the mountain that they had scaled, looking down at Spock's memory of Jim having just woken from sleep. Concentrating, Spock sent the feelings that he associated with the memory flowing through the mind-meld and heard Jim suck in a breath.

"I have associated you with the sun for as long as I can remember," he said quietly, gently squeezing Jim's hand. "And this moment was no exception. You are radiant, Jim. I did not know what these feelings were at the time, but I knew that they were stronger than I should feel toward you, my friend and superior officer."

A chuckle rumbled from Jim's lips. "Well, at the time, I didn't have a starship to command." He shook his head. "How could you look at that version of me, sleepy, unkempt, growing a beard for star's sake, and think I was radiant?"

Spock recognized the uncertainty in Jim's voice, and he turned, taking him by both hands and looked him in the eye. "Because I know you, Jim. I know the compassion you feel for others, the burning drive that urges you to put yourself in harm's way if it means saving the life of another, the strength of will you have to resist temptation at every turn. I could list your attributes chronologically, by the date I first realized them. I could list them alphabetically or by the frequency of the recurrence. I could list all of the things that make you radiant, that make you who you are, until the universe ceased to be. I love you, ashayam."

For a long moment, there was silence, and then Jim smiled, a tear tracing its way down his blushing cheek. "Ashayam? What does that mean?"

"Beloved," Spock answered, rubbing circles on the back of Jim's thumb with his own. It felt so good to be able to touch him like this without fearing the damage he could cause to both of their minds.

"I don't have any fancy Vulcan words to describe you, but I hope you can understand anyway," the man whispered, still blushing faintly. "I love you, Spock, in a way I have never loved anyone else before." The man leaned forward slowly, giving Spock plenty of time to change his mind, but the Vulcan, suddenly tired of going slow, or being uncertain, leaned forward and captured Jim's lips with his own.

At some point during their kiss, the meld broke, and when Spock had to draw away for air, they were once again kneeling across from each other on the floor of Jim's room, their faces only centimeters apart.

"I love you," Spock whispered, enjoying the freeing sensation saying the words aloud caused. In response, Jim leaned forward and kissed him again. And again and again.

A/N There we go, my friends! After much internal debate, I have decided that this is the end of their story. There will be an epilogue (it is very short) but for the most part, this is where I am leaving them. Maybe one day I will write a story about the challenges they face as a new couple, but for now, I think I'm happy with an open ending. Thank you so much to everyone who has been with me from the beginning of this fic, thank you to those who eagerly jumped on board. Thank you to the people who left me comments, and thank you to those who have simply enjoyed in silence. I love all of you so much; your support has really meant a lot to me.

I have one final request, or suggestion rather, for my artsy readers: If you are looking for art inspiration or happen to have time to spare (I know you don't), I would love to see fan art of this story. If you are interested in that, send me a message, and we'll work together.

Once again, thank you all so much, and I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it!


	35. Epilogue

A/N Have some fluff, my friends. You deserve it!

"Spock, what's wrong?" Jim mumbled, rolling over and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I know you're always the first one up, but two o'clock in the morning is a little early, even for you."

The Vulcan shifted in bed to turn to Jim, his features mostly concealed by the darkness of their room. "My apologies for waking you, Ashayam. I was simply lost in thought," he replied, and even in the darkness, Jim could see the way his eyebrows were drawn together and he knew his eyes had that distant look they often got whenever the Vulcan was deep in thought.

He propped himself up, curling into Spock's side, his head resting near the man's collarbone. "What were you thinking about?" he asked as he lazily intertwined his hand with the Vulcan's. Part of him wanted to go back to sleep, but he also was curious about what had kept Spock awake for so long. They had had several late-night conversations before, and he was endlessly fascinated by the Vulcan's mind and ability to make connections to things Jim could only barely comprehend.

"I was reflecting upon the time I attempted to resign my position aboard the Enterprise," he answered, and Jim let out a chuckle. He had expected some scientific principal or concern about the ship, not a memory of something so emotional.

"That was an interesting day, for sure. I can't believe it took us so long to realize that the feeling was mutual," he laughed quietly and tilted his face up to place a kiss on the underside of Spock's chin. "I love you, Spock. You know that, right?"

"I should hope you do. You did bond with me after all," he remarked dryly, but his words were a direct contrast to the way his arms tightened around Jim, and Jim could feel Spock's love flowing across their bond. He dipped his head, placing a kiss on Jim's hair. "I love you, Ashayam."

Jim let out a content sigh and cuddled closer. "I know. I have to say though, I'm still a little upset about you never telling me what this meant." He held up two fingers in an Ozh'esta, and Spock slid his own two fingers across them gently before replying,

"I did tell you, eleven months ago," he said, and although Jim couldn't see his face, he could picture the slight frown he knew was gracing the Vulcan features.

"I meant on Reskar. How many times did I accidentally steal Vulcan kisses for you while I was tending to your wounds?" he asked teasingly.

"Several." Spock was blushing now, Jim knew. "Although, I do not believe that they truly were Ozh'esta."

Jim hummed, knowing Spock was right...technically. "Well, they were done with love, even if I was too afraid to admit it at the time."

Spock ran a hand through Jim's hair, and he shivered under the touch before tilting his head to allow his bondmate access to his entire head of hair. Spock obeyed the prompting and threaded his fingers through it several times. Jim was just about to fall asleep again when Spock's voice rumbled above him.

"Ashayam, did you experience nightmares when we returned from Reskar? I remember that you moved your bedding to the floor, but you never remarked on it, and you moved it back to your bed after we were bonded and sleeping together." Spock's voice sounded oddly concerned considering the fact that it had been months since the event, but Jim answered honestly anyway.

"Yes, I did, but I could never seem to remember them when I woke up. I had trouble sleeping on something as soft as my bed after sleeping on rocks for weeks, so I moved my stuff to the floor."

"It did not help." It was a statement, not a question, and Jim nodded in confirmation of it.

"Yeah. It took me a while, but eventually, I realized that I was missing you by my side." He chuckled softly. "My brain knew that when we slept so close together on Reskar, it was to preserve our body heat, but someone forgot to tell my heart that."

Jim could practically hear Spock frown above him. "I suffered the same problem, although I attributed my inability to sleep to a lack of focused meditation," he admitted quietly.

"We really are a pair, Spock. I'm glad you decided to deliver your resignation in person. If you had submitted it to my PADD, I might not have been able to work up the courage to ask you why, to beg you to stay." His words became quiet. "I might have lost you forever."

The arms around him tightened and then let go, and Jim took the hint and pushed himself up until he was eye-level with Spock. "I do not believe we would have been separated forever, Ashayam. A piece of my soul belongs to you, always, and it did even before we completed the bond. I would have found my way back to you, even if all logic and tradition attempted to keep us apart."

Jim smiled at the earnestness he saw in Spock's face. To someone who didn't know the Vulcan as well as he did, it might have seemed like he was impassive or not truly invested in the conversation, but Jim could see the little things that spoke louder than any human expression could.

"What made you think of all of that?" he asked, intertwining their fingers once again.

"Yesterday was the anniversary of that day," Spock replied, and Jim's eyes widened.

"You kept track? I thought anniversaries were more of a human thing. I mean, they aren't very logical, are they? It's just another day."

There was silence for a moment, and Spock glanced down briefly before replying, "I believe there is logic in remembering events of importance, specifically where you are concerned, Jim."

Suddenly, an idea sprang to life in Jim's mind, and he jumped from the bed. "I'll be right back," he promised, placing a feather-light kiss on the tip of Vulcan's ear. Then, he ordered the lights in the room to thirty percent and made his way over to his bookshelf. He could feel Spock's eyes on him as he moved some of his classic children's books aside, the ones he knew Spock would never choose to read on his own, and pulled out a small velvet box, angling his body so that Spock couldn't see it.

This wasn't exactly the traditional way to do this. There was no candlelight dinner or stargazing or anything. Jim was wearing a ratty old Starfleet tee and pajama pants, for stars' sake! But he didn't need any of that, and neither did Spock. He hoped.

He returned to the bed, a giddy smile on his face. Spock had sat up by now, his feet resting on the floor by the side of the bed, but Jim gestured for him to remain sitting as he sunk to his knees in front of him. "Why don't we make today another anniversary?" he suggested, opening the small box to reveal the metal band inside and holding it up. "Spock, will you marry me? The human way, I mean. I know we're already bonded, and I'm not trying to diminish that at all, but I'd like to be able to claim you in human terms too. But if you don't want to, of course—"

"Yes," Spock whispered, gently interrupting him. "I will, Ashayam. I will always choose you in every way that I can, Vulcan or human."

Jim smiled widely and slid the ring on the ring finger of Spock's outstretched hand. "I love you, Spock."

In response, Spock intertwined their fingers and pulled Jim up and onto the bed. Then, he captured Jim's lips with his, and Jim's eyes slid closed. As they kissed, the bond between them glowed brightly, humming with their love; a promise of an eternity to spend together, side by side.

A/N The end!


End file.
